


A Business Proposition

by sylc



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Betrayal, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Rape, Murder, Oral Sex, Rape, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylc/pseuds/sylc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aya-chan is kidnapped by Schwarz on behalf of Takatori Reiji. Aya (Ran) is offered a deal. His service for his sister's safety. Not beta'd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Business Proposition

"Ran Fujimiya?" the crisp, female voice asked, too loud in his ear.

Aya winced at the volume and stabbed his free forefinger at one of the buttons on the base unit. "Yes?"

"Brother to Aya Fujimiya?” the voice said, a little quieter now.

"Yes?" His answer came more promptly this time, and even though he knew that Omi was away attending to the shop and both Yohji and Ken were out, he still glanced around the deserted, darkened kitchen of the flat to ensure he was alone.

"I'm calling from AOI Hospital. Your sister just woke up."

"I'm on my way," he croaked, and in his haste to leave, didn't quite manage to replace the receiver on its hook.

By the time he reached the hospital room, however, Aya had disappeared. He stared, his lungs freezing in his chest, at the neatly made bed.

"Ran, you just missed her." One of Aya's regular nurses recognised and came up to him. "I've never seen a patient transport ambulance arrive so promptly."

He swivelled fluidly to stare down at her, belatedly regretting the motion when he saw her flinch. It was just an ambulance transfer. He could be reading too much into it. His heart was jumping in his chest and he felt nauseous nevertheless. Certainly he hadn’t been advised that she was going to be moved. ”Where is she?"

"They've already transferred her to a rehabilitation hospital. Hang on, I'll find out the name and get you a phone number."

"And the nurse who called me?" he asked, following her to the counter of the nurses station.

She smiled apologetically from the other side. "We've just changed shift. She's not here, I'm afraid."

"Oh."

"Here's the number. You can use our phone here to call them and find out which ward she'll be on."

Five minutes later and Aya was standing in a cubicle of the men's room across from the nurses station. He stared blankly at the half-digested cookies Ms. Momoe had baked for them as they drifted in the bottom of the toilet bowl amidst what once had been tea. He snorted and spat out the last of the chunks, pressed the flush button, and ducked unsteadily out of the cubicle to stagger toward the sinks.

"Careful."

He recoiled from the hand reaching for his arm and listed over to the nearest sink. Upon glancing at the man's disappearing back, out of instinct, not self-consciousness or gratitude, he felt a burst of uneasiness. Japanese. Tall. Grey pullover. Black jeans. Short black hair. Glasses. What was recognisable about that? The man just looked like an average visitor, probably a stressed husband or son of a patient here. He grimaced at his own jumpiness.

He felt no better after rinsing out his mouth and splashing his face with water, but at least - after patting his face dry on a towel - the evidence of his nausea and cold sweat had disappeared. For now at least.

_No, Sir, your sister is not registered on our list of expected patients._

_No, Sir, the patient transport ambulance service has no record of having received a booking to transport your sister._

He was stopped by the police on his way home for speeding. He had no idea what speed he had been travelling at. He took the ticket with an apologetic nod, said something he did not recall, and continued driving with no further attention paid to the ticket that accompanied him home on the torn passenger side seat of his Porsche, fluttering slightly in the air conditioning. Ken had ripped the seat by accident when Aya had driven him home - injured - after a mission a month ago. His bugh nakhs had slid against the leather, slicing it cleanly. Aya hadn't noticed until the following morning when he had gone back to check for and clean up the blood. He hadn't made time to get it mended yet. He had planned to book the car in that week, but he wasn't sure when he would now.

Yohji was back when he returned to the flat. The man was waiting for him in the kitchen, eyeing him expectantly over his sunglasses. Aya knew from just looking at him that Omi had relayed the nature of Aya's departure from the shop to him.

"Someone's taken Aya," he said.

Yohji straightened in his chair, pushed his glasses up so that they perched on top of his head, revealing sympathetic eyes.

_Don't give me that look, you perpetual bullshitter._

Even so, a part of Aya appreciated the attention. He was about to tell Yohji to wait for Omi when he heard the boy come into the kitchen behind him. "I received a phone call from the hospital, telling me she had woken up," he relayed. "But by the time I got there, an ambulance had taken her away. I called both the ambulance service and AOI Hospital, her apparent destination. However, neither have heard of her and a transport ambulance booking was never registered."

"I'll see if I can find a licence number on the hospital's security footage," Omi said quietly. "Did you notice anything unusual?"

Aya furrowed his brow as he thought back over his trip to and from the hospital. Streets, parking, corridors, empty bed, nurses station, the telephone and fumbling with the pen and paper that nurse had given him, eventually dropping them on the floor and bending down to pick them up, watching a spectacled man walk past the nurses station, watching the reflection of the same man as he left the men's bathroom, recalling the very slight accent with which the man had spoken to him.

_"Careful."_

He felt nausea choke his gut again.  _Shit!_ He coughed. "Schwarz was there."

"WHAT?" Both Yohji and Omi exploded at the same time. "How do you know?" Yohji asked.

"I saw Oracle. I didn't recognise him at first."  _Until now._  "I saw him leave Aya's old ward and in the nearby bathroom shortly afterwards."  _Am I fucking blind? Why didn't I recognise him?_

"Jacking off one of Takatori's associates, no doubt," Yohji spat.

"No," Aya said, before registering the sarcasm. He felt numb. So helpless. Nobody knew anything. He turned to Omi whose nose was still wrinkled in disgust at what Yohji had said. Aya felt something twist slightly in his gut at the expression. "Can I do anything to help you with checking the surveillance?"

Omi shook his head. "No. I know what times to check. Go and lie down. You look terrible. I'll be in the basement if you need me." So saying, the boy slipped past Aya and Yohji to grab a couple of cookies from the tupperware on the counter; then disappeared downstairs.

"Sit down, Aya."

Aya jerked out the chair opposite Yohji and sat, rigidly.

"Beer?"

"No." Seconds later, he stood up. "Is the shop closed and locked?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be in my room, then," he advised, and walked away. Schwarz meant Reiji Takatori. Reiji Takatori meant that this was personal, that this was Hell all over again and God, he didn't want to deal anymore with that animal, that creature masquerading as a human, or with his equally sadistic offspring.

He sat on his bed and tried to meditate, but memories of Takatori crept back through. Shaking the man's fat, sweaty paw at a dinner party, watching his car collide with Aya's small body and throw it up in the air like a rag, Aya's body riddled with tubes, her body so pale, small, grey and still under the white creaseless sheets. Frustrated, he lay down and stared at the shadows on the ceiling. A car drove past the building, a streak of light arched across the off-white paintwork and then slid away.

What had Oracle been doing in the hospital after Aya's disappearance? Looking for him? Cleaning up evidence? Stealing her medical records?

_Wiping surveillance tapes._

He shuddered and broke out anew into another cold sweat.

_Oh, please no. Please God, no._

After thinking that, he contemplated taking a sleeping pill, but then reconsidered. That'd hardly be helpful if Schwarz  _hadn't_ wiped the tapes and Omi had a registration number and the ambulance tracked down before dawn.

Four hours later, sitting on his bed in his mission gear, he had his answer where there came a knock on the door. "Aya. You awake?" It was Yohji.

He sprung up and jerked the door open. Yohji gestured towards the stairs, indicating that he would talk as they walked to the basement.

"Omi's found the ambulance. It's parked outside a shipping warehouse."

"Trap," Aya said. Then added, with a weariness born of experience, "Probably." Even an imbecile knew not to dump the getaway vehicle - one with a tracking signal on it as well - at the final destination. This meant that they were either looking at a trap or at a stopover. Given that the vehicle was parked at a warehouse and that they knew Schwarz was involved, it was likely a trap. Indeed, it screamed trap.

"We think so too. But what's the alternative?"

"True." They arrived at the basement and filed in. Ken was there, staring over Omi's shoulder at the frozen frames of the video surveillance. As Aya neared, he saw that one of the frames wasn't of the ambulance or its crew, but of Oracle's sharp face. The man was looking up at the camera, a slight smirk curving his lips. Aya clenched his fists. He was mocking them.

_Careful._

He gritted his teeth. How could he have missed him?

"Any sign of the rest of Schwarz?"

"No," Omi said, not looking at him. "Shall we go in?"

"Any telecommunications access to the warehouse?"

"No," Omi said. "Black out."

_Of course._

Aya nodded and walked to the meeting table to grab his ear piece and microphone. "I'm going in," he announced. "Can someone stay on line with me?"

They just stared at him.

"Please," he added, after considering what he had said. He didn't think it was too much to ask, for one of them to spend the rest of the night and possibly the morning listening to him stumbling blindly through a shadowy warehouse to almost certain death.

"Don't be stupid, Aya," Ken said suddenly. Aya frowned at him. "This may not be a paid mission, but we're all going in. Except Omi; he'll cover from here."

"What about Kritiker?" Aya enquired, looking at Omi.

Omi glanced sidelong at him. "I'll send Persia word once you've arrived at the warehouse. That'll buy you some time should he decide to send in police."

Aya nodded. He looked at Yohji and Ken. "I'll see you in the garage in ten."

The doors of the warehouse stood open when they got there, the ambulance tucked behind stacks of boxes that, when nudged, teetered slightly and crackled, as if filled with plastic or polystyrene.

Yohji scouted the warehouse floor whilst Ken opened the front doors and Aya the back. None of the doors were locked. The stretcher was missing from the back. Upon turning on the ambulance lights, they saw no sign of a struggle or blood. Aya stepped out of the ambulance and walked around to the front to check the front compartments for a note, for anything. When he got there, he realised Ken had already cleared them. The younger man looked at him and shook his head, lips pursed.

"We better clear out," Ken said, "before the police get here."

Aya nodded and went to get Yohji. The man, however, had disappeared from sight. After a quick search of the ground floor, Aya headed quietly up the stairs to check the offices that lined one side of the warehouse.

He found Yohji in the second office along, knocked out cold, but still alive - or so he assumed. Berserker - black leather clad, a long white knife in each hand - was standing over Yohji's body, preventing him from getting too close. Against the furthermost wall and beside the door to the third office leaned Mastermind, arms crossed, smirking at him, his thin angular face and shaggy orange hair lit by the faint glow of the cigarette in his hand. He was wearing a crisp white suit, a silk scarf bearing a shock of neon pink and yellow tied with practised elegance at his neck.

"Hello Pussy," the German crooned. Across the room, Berserker chuckled lowly.

"Where's Aya?" Aya asked, ignoring the dig at his codename.

"Milk's through the door, Pussy," Mastermind replied. "Walk to it. Part those beautiful legs. We won't stop you. We like the view."

Aya grimaced and kept walking, hand locked tight around the hilt of his drawn katana. Berserker laughed again when he reached the door and Aya cast the madman another wary glance.

"Lick up the milk, Kitty. Lick, lick, lick," Berserker hissed. He smacked his lips loudly and grinned hideously.

Aya shuddered, despite himself.

Upon entering the third office, he stilled upon finding himself staring down the barrel of Oracle's gun. The white suited American stood in front of the desk, a single lamp lit behind him, a telephone beside it. The receiver was off the hook.

Behind Aya, the heavy door swung shut and the automatic lock clicked. Aya swallowed.

"Katana sheathed and down on the floor."

Aya complied, not taking his eyes off the taller man's sour expression.

"Microphone off."

"I'm not wearing a..."

Oracle gazed impassively at him. "You have five seconds to comply."

Aya's hands shook as he took off his leather coat, tossing it over a nearby table before pulling his T-shirt over his head. He ripped off the microphone taped to his chest.

“Break it."

Aya did so and threw the mangled mess at Crawford's feet for the man's inspection. Apparently satisfied, Crawford stood back from the desk.

"Answer the telephone."

As Aya reached for the receiver, he noticed that his hands were shaking.

"Hello?"

_"Hello Ran."_

His breath caught. The shaking suddenly became markedly more pronounced. It had been a while since he had last heard that voice, but he had never forgotten it.

"Reiji Takatori."

"I have a business proposition for you, Ran."

"Where is my sister?"

"Provided you cooperate with me, she's safe. Did you know that she woke up?"

"Where is she?" Aya growled. He forced himself not to ask how she was. As if Takatori would tell him anything. As if he could believe anything that that man said.

"Ask me that again and I'll forbid you from seeing her."

Aya froze. Conditions? "What do you want?"

"I want to employ you. As an assassin," the man added after a momentary pause.

"You have an assignment for me?"

The older man chuckled. "Ran, I have  _many_ assignments for you. And in return, you'll be permitted to see your sister, and perhaps, in time, you'll even learn enough about how I work to finally get your revenge."

Aya had no response to that.

"If you decline the offer, too bad for you both. She might be obliged to take another very long nap. She might not even wake up again. But, angel that she is, she's already consented to further organ donation should she end up intubated again."

Aya choked. Blood roared in his ears, but he couldn't do anything. He gaped helplessly, staring blankly at the desktop and the clean, curved edges of the telephone.

"Think about it, Boy. Not too long, mind. I'll give you twelve hours. Schwarz will tell you how to get in contact with me."

The line went dead.

Aya put down the receiver and stared at The Oracle. In the man’s formerly free hand was now a mobile phone. Oracle tossed it at him and Aya caught it on reflex.

"My number's on it," Oracle said quietly. "Call me before 6am with your answer. Now get dressed and get out."

Aya obeyed. He noticed that both Mastermind and Berserker had disappeared from the second office when he left, leaving Yohji an insensible heap in the middle of the floor. His teammate was alive so Aya called Ken and the two of them carried Yohji back to Aya's car.

Ken sorted out driving both his and Yohji's bikes far enough away to not attract cop attention whilst Aya drove Yohji home. He had recognised the signs of a heroin hit and that history was the last thing Yohji needed added to his medical record.

He was glad for Yohji's sedation. The drive gave him the time he needed to drag himself back together, to be able to pretend that he was no more devastated than he had been before he had spoken to Takatori.

"What happened with Schwarz?" Omi asked, as soon as he walked into the flat, dragging Yohji with him. Upon regarding the boy standing leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor, Aya was reminded of how The Oracle had been waiting for him. He grimaced as he rearranged Yohji against the wall of the flat and watched the sedated man slide down it immediately.

"Takatori has her," he said bluntly. "In short, I'm to stay away or else."

Omi frowned. Aya knew that the teen didn’t believe him; the silencing of the transmitter would have seen to that regardless of whatever Aya said. “Have you been tracking him of late?"

Aya squatted beside Yohji and squeezed the muscles at the back of the insensible man's neck to check his level of consciousness. When Yohji winced and jerked away with a curse, Aya let him go.

"I've never stopped," he said, and stood up. "Help me carry him to the living room. I'll watch him."

" _I'll_  watch him," Omi said sharply. "You're going to bed."

Aya looked at him. The boy's eyes were hard, wide, earnest. He nodded.

"Then I'll be in my room," he said quietly, and after helping Omi settle Yohji on his side on the couch, he went to his room. It was the sensible choice. This was an opportunity to ponder the benefits of accepting Takatori's offer. It also provided him with the time and privacy to begin packing his belongings.

But logical though the choice might be, it didn't stop his hands from shaking, his mouth from drying, or the churning nausea from reemerging in his gut.

 _How could I ever work for Reiji Takatori?_ his mind screamed at him.  _Am I crazy? Am I really that immoral?_

"Oh God," he whispered as he sank onto his bed and carded his hands through his sweat damp hair. "What else can I do?"

On the other side of the flat, he heard the door open and shut and Ken's voice, addressing Omi, confirming the security of both his and Yohji's bikes. Aya stirred and reached into his coat pocket to pull out the mobile that The Oracle had given to him. He stared at it for a few seconds before standing and placing it on his desk. Then he went over to his wardrobe, looked at the two empty suitcases stacked at the top for a while, and then squatted and pulled out a few large folded shopping plastic bags from where he had stored them in a drawer at the bottom.

"What on Earth are you doing?" Ken asked, when he saw Aya struggling out of the front door later on with two bags full of what appeared to be old clothes.

"Charity drop," Aya replied. "I couldn't sleep so I cleaned. Do you have anything to add to the pile?"

Ken stared at him for a few seconds. Then he looked at the bags hanging from Aya's hands. He shook his head. "Nah."

Aya nodded and stepped out. The door banged shut behind him. After piling his stuff into his Porsche's boot, he climbed into the front seat and locked the doors. Then he pulled the mobile out of his pocket and switched it on.

A plain blue wallpaper was the background. Probably default. It told him it was 4:13am. It felt later. He glanced up at the digital clock on his wall. That said 4:11. Looking back at the mobile, he began pressing arrow buttons, searching for its phone book. Eventually he found it. There was only one number in it. BC it was labelled. He wondered what it stood for, pondered momentarily that Omi might know and if not, could probably find it out for him by dawn, then selected the name and dialled it.

It rang three times. Then came a familiar voice: precise and cold and American.  _Perpetually displeased_ , Aya thought.

_"What's your answer?"_

"I'm in," he answered, his voice sounding far steadier than he felt.

 _"I'll see you at 5am at the church across the street from AOI Hospital."_  Then the line went dead.

Aya lowered the phone and stared at it for a few minutes.  _Did they know that he had already packed? Why in hell did Takatori want him when he had Schwarz? All he had was a fucking katana. He couldn't do any of this freaky psychic stuff._

He swallowed and pressed the button to open the automated garage door. As it slid open, he glanced across at Omi's bicycle, Ken's motorcycle, and Yohji's motorcycle. On the other side, Yohji's car gleamed slightly in the light of the street lamps. He shivered and twisted the key in the Porsche's slot. It burst to life with a purr. He looked across the road at the closed garage door of the building opposite them.

"Fuck it," he muttered, and putting the car into gear, stove his foot onto the accelerator. It swerved into the alleyway with a shrill screech.

He arrived at the church at 4:46am. The car park in front of the building was deserted, as was the street. After parking, he hunkered down in his seat and stared in the dim light of a nearby street lamp at the phone on his lap. A piece of paper caught the edge of his vision and he turned his head to regard the speeding ticket on the passenger seat.

"Ran Fujimiya," read the policeman's scrawl.

What was Aya-chan doing now? Was she awake? Was she really awake? Did she remember the crash? Did she remember anything? Could she walk? After all these years, had her body atrophied to the point where she couldn't walk?

If she remembered, what use was that information if Takatori held them both in his debt? Aya's own testimony was worse than useless; his history as an assassin could be dug up, exaggerated. He would face jail, possibly execution if he ever stood opposite Takatori in a court.

What of Aya-chan's testimony? Now that Takatori had her - frail, bed bound, perhaps amnesic of the man's cruelty and power, certainly unaware of the extent of the man's cruelty and influence - what could she do?

Headlights stabbed across his rearview mirror, glided across and fell away as a nondescript white sedan pulled into a parking spot two places down from him. The front passenger seat opened and the familiar tall white clad shape of the smug German unfolded to stalk across the bitumen towards his door. In one of his white gloved hands, he held a small navy blue sports duffle bag.

Aya rolled down his window.

Mastermind reached him, placed one hand on the roof of the Porsche, and bent down to smirk playfully at him.  "Move over,  _Katzerl_. I'll drive," he said. His breath smelled of cigarettes and toothpaste. At this range, Aya also caught a whiff of the man's cologne: piney and clean.

Aya would have opened his door and got out, but Mastermind was already opening his door and moving forward, forcing Aya instinctively away from him. Lifting his legs awkwardly, Aya shifted across to the passenger seat, hearing the ticket crumpling beneath his backside as he did so.

Mastermind slid into the driver's seat. He didn't look at Aya as he tossed the bag into Aya's lap with one hand and, with the other, started the car. With a careless wave across the lot at the sedan, he slung an arm around Aya's seat, twisted his body to stare past Aya at the rear window as he skilfully and rapidly reversed the Porsche in a weaving line out of the small parking lot and into the quiet street.

Aya felt envious. He also felt discomforted at how little regard Mastermind had for him. How the shaggy-haired, dandily dressed man had stared straight through him as he had swivelled his body to look out of the rear window.

"On the contrary,  _Katzerl,_ " Mastermind spoke quietly as they sped down the street and turned down a major motorway that would take them northwest; further inland. "You're the mission. You have my complete regard."

Aya looked sidelong at him. Mastermind winked at him and massaged the gearbox into a higher gear. The car responded to him as it did Aya, purring softly, the road sliding away beneath its wheels in a blurry streak of white lines. The other man's steering arm was resting jauntily on the open window sill.

"Where are we going?" Aya asked, eyeing the arm on the window sill.

"We're going to your new home. Eventually," the German replied. "We're going on a brief forest jaunt first, however."

"Jaunt?" Aya echoed. He looked at the duffle bag about which he had absently wrapped his arms. The canvas felt cool and smooth against his callused fingers. It was light and soft. Clothing, perhaps?

"We have a body to drop off," Mastermind advised him. "Not yours," he added, with a sidelong grin, as if he had read Aya's momentary anxiety. "And it’s not in the bag," he added, reading Aya's second immediate suspicion. He looked back at the road.

"When will I get to see my sister?"

"I don't know," Mastermind said. "Ask Crawford."

"Crawford?"  _BC?_ Aya wondered what the "B" stood for, if they had stood for The Oracle's initials.

The German smiled lazily at him. "The Oracle,  _Katzerl_."

"Is he in the other car?" He turned his head and stared behind them, but there was no sign of a white sedan. He looked back at Mastermind in time to see the man incline his head, smile still present on the German's lips.

"Can he really see the future?"

Mastermind laughed. "You're funny,  _Katzerl_ ," he said. "Very cute."

"I wasn't joking," Aya said flatly.

Mastermind grinned at him. "Neither was I." He nodded at the bag. "Get changed." As Aya unzipped the bag and began taking out the sweat pants, T-shirt, sneakers and hoodie, the German added, quietly, firmly, "Take off the earring too, Fujimiya."

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

Aya didn't know where they stopped off. Somewhere in the country, a mile or so north from a shrine. Mastermind bounced the Porsche onto the dirt and undergrowth a few feet to the side of the gravelly road and jerked it to a sudden halt. Then he jumped out, leaving the keys in the motor, the motor still humming away. "Come on," he said. "Leave the bag in the car."

"What about my katana?" Aya asked, frowning.

"Leave that too," the man instructed, and began walking away from the car and across the road to stand beneath a large pine tree. He took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket as he strolled and lit up, offering the packet to Aya when the other man reached him. Aya shook his head.

"No matter," the German commented, flicking ash carelessly onto the dirt road. "Killing is vice enough." He grinned.

Aya shoved his hands deep in the pockets of the hoodie and looked up and down the road. He was about to ask if they were waiting for the other car when the sedan suddenly appeared and drew to a standstill about ten feet from where they stood. Both the driver's door and one of the back doors opened. From the former emerged Oracle or Crawford as Aya had now learned. From the latter, a teenager that Aya didn't recognise.

"Get in the back of this car, Fujimiya," Crawford ordered, eyeing him briefly. Once Aya was ensconced in the leather-covered back, the American looked at Mastermind. The pair exchanged a look before Mastermind returned to Aya's Porsche and took out the duffle bag full of Aya's mission clothes.

Aya watched the German carry it around to the rear of the sedan. The boot popped and both Crawford and Mastermind disappeared from sight for a while, though Aya could feel them moving something heavy around in the back of the boot. He turned his attention to the teenager, who was wearing a navy polo shirt, crisp white chinos and brown lace ups. The boy was standing very straight and still a few feet from the other side of the car, watching the activity taking place in the sedan's boot with a neutral expression. He looked about Omi's age. Japanese. Neater than Omi. More slight in build. Short black hair with a long fringe, long lashes, a pale, pointed face.

Mastermind and Crawford suddenly reappeared, carrying a body with them. A tall, thin body, clad in leather. Aya realised, after a few moments of confusion, that what they were carrying was wearing  _his_  mission clothes.

The motionless body... possibly, corpse, also had long red hair, cut in a style similar to his own.

_It's a body double._

He and the teenager watched them arrange the body in the front of his Porsche. A shiny flash amidst the dark red locks and he observed that they had placed Aya's earring in the man's ear as well.

_They're going to use him as a decoy._

Mastermind and Crawford slammed the Porsche door and returned to the sedan. As they neared, Aya saw the German flash the teenager a smile and say something softy to him, too quiet for Aya to hear. The boy didn't respond. He just continued staring at the Porsche. His eyes seemed to be glowing though, now; his hair seemed to rise ever so slightly in an unseen breeze.

And suddenly, in a blinding blaze of light, the Porsche gave an almighty scream and hurtled forward into one of the pine trees some fifty feet away. Aya jumped, staring in disbelief as the car exploded upon impact, a huge fireball erupting into the bowel of the tree, unfurling upwards towards the sky.

Without another word, the three Schwarz members calmly joined Aya in the sedan. This time, Crawford climbed into the front passenger seat and Mastermind took over the driver's seat. The unknown teenager, who Aya now assumed was the Schwarz member codenamed Prodigy, slid into the seat across from him without looking at him.

"Show's over,  _Katzerl_ ," Mastermind said, glancing at him in the rearview mirror as he started the car and began turning it around in order to drive them back towards the city. "You're stuck with us now."

Aya didn't respond, too occupied with staring at the blazing wreckage of his once white, beloved Porsche, and the vague form of the man sitting burning in the front seat. He felt nauseous. He felt dizzy. His mouth felt dry.

_What the fuck am I doing here?_

No one turned on the radio during the ride back to the city. Aya noticed it with a pang, his usually proactive ability to constantly plan and organise every minute detail of his days suddenly seemed to have short-circuited. All he could see in his mind's eye was the dying, perhaps already dead, stranger who had taken his life, his history, every scrap of his identity with him in the remains of his blackening, burning Porsche.

_It will take days, perhaps weeks, for them to realise that it isn't me in there._

Would Persia even order an autopsy? How detailed?

Every now and again, he would look at the rearview mirror, but Mastermind didn't look at him again. None of the Schwarz members looked at him again during the drive out of the woods and into the morning glare that radiated across the concrete and glass jungle of Tokyo city.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

Schwarz lived in a large and very exclusive apartment block in inner Tokyo. It was on the seventh level, or so Aya gathered from the number of levels Mastermind had circled in the adjoining car park before sliding the sedan to a standstill in front of the number 776. They all got out and trudged in a group - Crawford and Prodigy first, then Aya, then Mastermind - from the swipe card accessed car park through a locked door to a corridor full of more locked doors, these ones the entrances to various apartments.

Through the door marked with 776 they went and into a wide, spacious open plan white tiled kitchen and plush white and grey living room. On the far side lay a balcony. To the left and right of the living room extended corridors to what Aya gathered were the bedrooms and bathrooms.

He wondered who owned the apartment and, if it wasn't Takatori, how much the man paid to rent it for Schwarz.

The door shut with a clang behind him and the three Schwarz members spread out in a fan, each disappearing on different, purposeful routes, leaving Aya standing alone in the kitchen beside the rectangular dining table.

He looked around, from the sterile looking kitchen to the deep, charcoal leather lounge in the living room, huge white shag rugs at their metal feet. There was no television, but on the coffee table rested two newspapers, one wrapped as if new. On the sheltered balcony rested a small white table and four matching chairs. It smelled like freshly cooked rice and Aya looked back at the kitchen counter top, noticing now that the rice cooker was on.

Berserker suddenly appeared from the end of one of the corridors. He was wearing black pinstripe flannel pyjamas, with white etching at the cuffs and collar. He paused upon seeing Aya, his visible eye meeting Aya's gaze, a bright flash of wary gold.

It was the first time since Aya's life had literally disappeared in a cloud of smoke that any member of Schwarz had acknowledged him, and Aya wasn't sure what to make of the silent regard of the supposedly certified psychotic member of Schwarz. What he did know, however, was that the homicidal man wasn't holding anything in his hands. He also wasn't taunting him, running at him, or glaring at him.

He was just looking.

They stared at each other for about a minute. And then, suddenly Mastermind appeared behind Berserker and touched the white-haired man on the back of his left shoulder. He glanced across at Aya, then spoke softly in Berserker's ear.

"Another Japanese breakfast."

" _Jesus_ ," Berserker muttered, and entered the kitchen to start opening cupboards, the fridge, and drawers, taking out cooking equipment and ingredients. "What about you, Schuldig?"

“Usual, Farfy."

The Irishman nodded and returned to the fridge to take out half a loaf of artisan bread. He yawned as he took a knife out of the drawer and began cutting it into thick slices. Schuldig watched him for a few seconds and then looked at Aya.

"Call me Schuldig. This is Farfarello. You'll be bunking with us for a few days. We don't have a guest room, but the sofa bed in here should do. I'll lend you a pillow and quilt."

Across the room, Farfarello suddenly chuckled. Schuldig ignored him and beckoned Aya follow him into the corridor from which he had emerged after Farfarello a few moments earlier. "The bathroom is down here on the left."

Aya followed him down the corridor. Most of the doors were shut. One of those that was open looked into a bedroom. A rumpled black quilt lay pushed back from the mattress. On the floor, a pile of unravelled bloody bandages. On the far wall, Aya glimpsed a multi-tailed whip hanging from a hook.

_Farfarello's room. Berserker's room. Almost certainly._

Schuldig stopped at an ajar door opposite another, closed one, and indicated inside. On following his gaze, Aya took in a sterile looking white bathroom.

_Who cleans these bathrooms?_

"Spare towels are in this cupboard," Schuldig continued, pointing to the closed double door opposite the bathroom. “The washing machine is hidden behind here too. There are spare toiletries in the third drawer down."

Aya wondered how often Schwarz entertained. He wouldn't have thought they would have entertained at all, given that its members were even more freakish than Weiss Kreuz's. Yohji was the only member of Weiss who ever brought anyone home and Yohji’s guests were always under the influence of at least alcohol.

_Schuldig is the most likely womanizer of Schwarz._

On glancing at Schuldig, he did a double take, noticing how the man was eyeing him closely.

"What is it?"

Schuldig just smirked and opened the closed door opposite the bathroom to take out a large folded white towel. He slipped into the bathroom past Aya and hung the towel on a rack opposite the shower, beside another one. "Here you go. There are scissors and packets of hair dye in the cabinet under the sink," he said. "Ask anyone but Nagi for help when you do it." Seeing Aya's blank expression, he added, "That's the teenager you saw earlier."

Aya nodded. He pursed his lips and wondered if Schuldig knew that although he had cut his own hair and worn wigs over it, he had never dyed it alone. Or at home for that matter.

_Probably. Does he "hear" me in his head or does he actively search for information in my mind? Memories and such? Or both?_

Schuldig passed him, going back into the corridor. "My door's the next one down," he said, pointing further down the corridor at a closed door beside the bathroom. "Further down is Nagi's room."

“And the other way?" Aya asked, looking in the direction of the living room and the corridor that extended off the other side of it.

"Crawford's rooms, our meeting room and a gym. I recommend you avoid that corridor, save for the gym." He didn't give an explanation before heading back to the living room and the smell of frying eggs and mushrooms, miso soup, and toast.

Farfarello was already setting the table for five. Three identical breakfasts of fried eggs, miso soup, rice, and green tea; two identical breakfasts of fried eggs and mushrooms, buttered toast, and tea.

"I've called the others," Schuldig said to no one in particular as he drew out a chair in front of a place set with toast. He ushered Aya into the chair opposite him, before one of the Japanese breakfasts. Farfarello took the seat beside Aya. They all watched as Schuldig inspected the contents of the two teapots in front of them before finding the one containing what he wanted and filling first Farfarello's cup, then his own, full of black tea. He then filled Aya's cup with green tea from the other teapot.

"Thanks," Aya said, feeling awkward, sitting across from and beside the two strange assassins. Sitting so close to Farfarello, he could see burns on the man's fingers. He wondered if any of them were from cooking. Or were all of them?

Schuldig flashed him a grin. “You’re welcome”

Nagi appeared and took the seat beside Schuldig. The boy had changed clothes. He was wearing a school uniform now. He placed a schoolbag on the carpet beside the table before pulling out the chair beside Schuldig and sitting quietly down. He looked even tinier beside the tall broad German with big, shaggy hair. Schuldig poured him a cup of green tea too.

"Don't bother waiting for Crawford," Schuldig said then, looking at Nagi, but apparently addressing all of them as Farfarello immediately started cutting up his toast. Nagi nodded at Schuldig and also began eating. Aya and Schuldig followed suit, Aya silently noting with every bite that Berserker was a skilled cook.

Crawford emerged a few minutes later. He didn't say anything, just approached and sat down at the head of the table. He ate with chopsticks in quick, precise, disinterested motions. Aya watched him as he sipped his tea and wondered if Schwarz normally ate together like this, like an odd kind of freaky family.

 _Weiss doesn't eat together._  He thought about his old team's eating schedule. Ken always ate rapidly. Omi too, but Ken in massive proportions. Then he would race off to do coaching or to mind the shop or to exercise outside or to take his motorcycle out. He made an effort to cook meat, but most of his food was instant.

Omi ate at regular intervals, but he often took his meals to a computer or ate at the table with his homework in front of him, looking like he was barely tasting it. The boy made all of his own meals.

Yohji... ate at irregular intervals. Most of the beer in the fridge at the share house belonged to him. Also most of the electrolyte enriched fluids, although Ken favoured those too. Those seemed to be his only staples, aside from various containers of half eaten takeaway food that appeared sporadically on his shelf in the fridge.

Aya made an effort to cook, but ate more instant food than he liked. It had been months since he had last eaten a proper Japanese breakfast and the last one had been cooked by chefs at a restaurant courtesy of Manx after the successful completion of a long mission. Omi sometimes cooked for him and vice versa, but Omi didn't make time in the morning to cook breakfast for himself, much less for anyone else, and Aya didn't expect it of him.

Unless this was a special occasion, expectations were apparently very different at Schwarz. These guys ate with impeccable technique, which Aya doubted Weiss could match unless Ken was absent, Omi was concentrating on his table etiquette, and Yohji had a woman to impress. Aya wondered how Schwarz’s meal schedule ran. Did Farfarello cook all the group meals?

Nagi suddenly rose, shouldered his bag, and took his dishes to the sink. Without a word, he left the apartment. Aya watched the door swing shut behind him, quelling a sudden urge to bolt after the boy and out into the street and freedom.

"Fujimiya," Crawford said suddenly. Aya looked at the man and watched the morning light glint off his glasses. How well could Crawford see without them?

"Yes?"

"As Schuldig may have advised you, you will be staying with us indefinitely."

"What about my sister?"

"She's at a rehabilitation facility."

"Is she awake?"

"I haven't been advised of her status."

Aya's eyes narrowed. He was about to accuse the man of lying, tell him that he had seen him at the hospital, when he recalled the surveillance tapes. Schwarz hadn't taken Aya. They had come afterwards.

"What were you doing at her hospital?"

"That's confidential."

Aya flushed. "It's my sister," he snapped. He cringed, suddenly, when he felt something pointed nudge his flank, from Farfarello's side. He glanced down at the gleaming dagger in the man’s scarred hand before looking back at Crawford.

"If you demonstrate any further hysterics, you'll be sedated during your stay with us," Crawford said coldly. "What will it be, Fujimiya?"

_Hysterics? He calls justified anger hysterics? It's my sister!_

"I'll cooperate," Aya muttered, tense.

"We'll see," Crawford said briskly. "Now. Use your time here to change your appearance. Mr. Takatori is arranging a new identity for you. You are not to leave this apartment unless ordered to do so by myself or Takatori.

"You will clean up after yourself at all times.

"You will not use the stove or oven without supervision from one of us. There are instant meals and snacks in the fridge and pantry should you get hungry. However, whilst you are here, we expect you to eat with us. Breakfast is at 7:30, lunch at 13:00, and dinner is at 19:00."

 _Crawford, then, is the one running the routine here. And he hasn't even taken out his gun. He has the rest of Schwarz whipped._ Aya glanced at Schuldig and met the German's gaze, but Schuldig didn't smile.

"If you threaten any of us," Crawford continued, "if you aggravate any of us or draw any attention to our apartment from the windows or balcony, we will not hesitate to consider sedating you for the remaining duration of your stay. Or worse.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Is this clear?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

 _Fucking control-freak._ "Yes, Sir."

"Better, Fujimiya."

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

After breakfast, the remaining three members of Schwarz trickled away. Schuldig gathered up the dirty dishes, Crawford disappeared back into his corridor and Farfarello retreated to his bedroom.

Wondering what to do, Aya went up to Schuldig who was handwashing the dishes. "Which is the fold out bed?" he asked.

Schuldig turned and pointed a suds-covered green glove in the direction of one of the sofas. "That one. I'll help you set up in a moment. Why don't you help me by drying?"

Aya looked at the growing number of plates on the drying rack, then looked around for a dishtowel. He retrieved the one hanging from the stove handle and began silently drying and stacking what Schuldig handed to him. Bowls on bowls, plates on plates. As Schuldig finished up and began wiping down the sink and countertops, he told him where to put the stacks in the cupboards.

"Nice teamwork,  _Katzerl_ ," he complimented.

"I'm not a member of Weiss Kreuz anymore, Schuldig," Aya pointed out gruffly.

"Of course not," the German said, smirking, "But it's my nickname for you nonetheless. Or would you rather  _Pussy_ again?" He used the English word. Aya blinked, genuinely puzzled.

"Doesn't that mean cat as well?" he ventured.

"Vagina too," Schuldig said, smirk widening when Aya flushed. "That'd be the more appropriate nickname for you, but I don't think it should be used in case it were overheard. Your sexuality is a loaded secret,  _Katzerl_ , best kept that way for now, I think. You don't know what dirty predators might prick up their ears if they heard  _that_  nickname, given your pretty face and build."

Aya stared at him, speechless. Then, without a word, his face still red, he stalked away and began tugging off the cover on the fold out bed. He dragged it out, glaring at it all the while, a dull roar droning in his ears.

He had just finished unfolding it, exposing the bare double bed mattress, when Schuldig appeared in the edge of his vision. The man was carrying a sheet, a quilt, and a pillow. He dropped them on the side of the mattress and looked at Aya. His smirk had softened somewhat to a careless smile.

"Want a hand with the sheet?"

Aya's face still felt hot. He knew his colour was at least pink. He suddenly found himself involuntarily assessing Schuldig's dogged face, shaggy soft mane, his large, intent blue eyes and cruel mouth, the broad cut of his shoulders and tall, lean frame. The man's frame reminded him of Yohji. What if his abdomen was also similar? With a trail of fuzz, disappearing beneath a blue towel slung low on the hips... 

His penis gave a sudden interested twitch and hardened slightly.

_Fuck._

He lowered his eyes to the mattress.

"I'll manage," he said, his voice rough in his ears.

"How about with that erection?" Schuldig purred.

Aya abruptly paled. He lifted his head to stare at the other man.

"I'm fine," he insisted. Angry, defensive, and suddenly very frightened. "Leave me the fuck alone."

Schuldig was grinning. The taller man clicked his tongue and winked at him. "Watch that tone,  _Katzerl_ ," he said. "But I appreciate that you're fatigued. I'll leave you to your catnap." Chuckling softly, he turned and walked away.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

Aya slept for most of the afternoon, but never for more than an hour at a time. He tossed from side to side, his mind racing with disjointed thoughts.

Takatori.

His sister.

His new identity.

Schuldig. Fucking telepath.

Crawford. Control freak.

Farfarello. Schwarz cook? Whipping boy? Self-flagellating... what?

Nagi. Scary little freak.

Occasionally, when he woke, he would notice that either Schuldig, Crawford or Farfarello were in the room. Later in the morning he saw Farfarello enter the room from Crawford's end. Clad in dark grey running shorts and a black tank, the man was flushed as if he had just been working out, presumably in the apartment's gym. Farfarello opened the fridge and poured himself a glass of milk, downing it before disappearing back to his room.

Another time, he saw Schuldig sitting on the balcony. Smoking. His back to the glass window and Aya's gaze. When Aya next awoke, Crawford was sitting next to Schuldig, the pair of them conversing in voices too soft to be heard from inside the apartment. Crawford's profile faced Aya. The American's expression was cool as always. Crawford glanced at Aya through the cloud of smoke emanating from his companion's cigarette at one point. Then he looked back at Schuldig and continued talking. There was a cell phone in his hand. Black. Aya wondered if it was the one that he had telephoned using the cell phone resting in the front pocket of his hoodie.

He rose to use the toilet then. Farfarello's bedroom door was shut now, he noticed. So was Schuldig's. When he reached the main room, he glanced at the clock gleaming from the top of the oven and saw that it was almost 3pm.

_It hasn't even been 24 hours yet._

He looked back at the balcony. Schuldig and Crawford were still there. Crawford was on his phone now, though.

He looked back at the rumpled sheets on the fold out bed. Then he padded past it and to the closed balcony door. As he opened it, he noticed that both Schwarz assassins glanced at him and then continued doing what they were doing without any sign of being perturbed by his quiet intrusion.

"If it is urgent, I can put you in touch with a local organisation," Crawford suggested to the person on the other line. The American paused a few seconds, his nose wrinkling as he listened to his conversant. Then he said, "I appreciate your situation, however, I am not in a position to personally solve your problem as I am currently unable to travel to the locale."

Another pause. Then, "With due respect, Sir, this conversation isn't going anywhere."

Then, "No, that's not enough."

A smug smile directed at Schuldig who let out a bark of laughter. "Sir, I am little less common than a 'hired gun' as you put it. From the sound of it, you were misinformed as to exactly what it is that I do."

A polite smile. "And the same to you, Sir." Across from him, Schuldig chuckled. Then he hung up.

"You should have told him what it is that you really do, Boss," Schuldig said lazily. "He might think you were taking the Mickey and make for an interesting afternoon."

Crawford glanced at Aya who was eyeing both of them speculatively.

_What else does Schwarz do? I thought they were 'hired guns' for Takatori. I'm a 'hired gun', or rather, katana. Or I was._

"You are a 'hired katana',  _Katzerl_. You are very common indeed," Schuldig said. His back still faced Aya; he did not turn to look at him. "But everyone is a little on the lacklustre side in some regard."

Aya changed the subject. He looked at Crawford. "Have you heard from Takatori?"

"No." Crawford eyed him impassively for a few moments. Then he looked back at Schuldig. Schuldig nodded. Crawford returned his gaze to Aya. "Farfarello's picking up a suitable replacement katana tomorrow. Do you require any other weapons?"

"No, but I would appreciate appropriate gloves and clothing."

Crawford's brow rose. "Define appropriate clothing. As I recall, you tend to wear billowy leather coats and thin T-shirts on a hit."

Aya flushed and caught himself before biting back an incensory retort. "Appropriate as in practical for missions. Not necessarily including a long leather coat," he added. “Last night wasn’t really a mission.”

"He does look nice in leather," Schuldig interceded.

_Fuck off, Schuldig._

Crawford ignored Schuldig as if the man hadn't spoken at all. He also ignored Aya’s last sentence. "I can only promise dark colours. Speaking of which, when did you last use your natural hair colour?"

"Four years ago."

"Before Weiss?"

"Yes."

"Before Persia?"

"I've never left Persia's service until now."

Crawford held his gaze for a few moments. Then he nodded slowly. "How long was it at the time?"

"Short."

"Grow it out, then. Natural colour."

Across from him, Schuldig smirked and gently motioned a curvaceous outline with his hands, the space between them indicating breasts, waist, hips... Aya schooled his expression into indifference, but his right hand clenched all the same.

Crawford glanced between them, but if he recognised Schuldig's harassment for what it was, he gave no indication. Instead, he rose, one hand rising to readjust his glasses on his nose.

"Take my seat, Fujimiya," he said quietly. "You look like you need some sunshine. I'll fetch you a cup of tea." Then he walked past him and retreated inside.

Aya was somewhat taken aback. Crawford make  _him_  a cup of tea? Improbable that the man was about to drug him. Maybe it was a ploy to get him to talk to Schuldig, to address what Crawford perhaps saw as a personal spat. He glanced sidelong at Schuldig as he moved to take Crawford's vacated seat and tensed when he saw that the German was still smirking at him.

"Stop it," Aya told him.

"No,  _Katzerl_." Schuldig's smirk softened. "I enjoy harassing you."

_He makes it sound like I'm his personal entertainment._

Schuldig didn't deny the thought.

"I'm not a woman," Aya reminded him.

"I had noticed. Your sex is, however, irrelevant," Schuldig replied, leaning forward and stubbing out the end of his cigarette. "I'm attracted to you."

Aya bristled. He wasn't sure why the direct admission affected him so, but it did. "Well, I'm not attracted to you," he snapped.

Schuldig chuckled lowly. "Unfortunately for you, Aya," he purred, "that's how I like it."

The balcony door slid open and Crawford re-emerged, a small tray containing a Japanese teapot and two teacups in his hands. He looked between them, at Aya's tense, flushed face and Schuldig's smirking one. Then he came forward and placed the tray in the middle of the table. "Hoji-cha," he murmured, glancing at Aya. Then he looked at Schuldig. "Fujimiya is the type to hold grudges, as you know. Should Takatori wish for him to work with us, I will not accept any mission compromise related to your personal disagreement."

Schuldig held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm just teasing, right, Fujimiya?"

"No," Aya disagreed. "You're harassing me."

Schuldig looked back at Crawford. The two exchanged a look. Then, scowling, Schuldig rose and retreated inside the apartment. The door slid shut. Crawford sank into Schuldig's empty chair.

For a few minutes, there was silence. Then Aya ventured, "You're American-Japanese?"

"Mm." Crawford nodded. "Half. Why?"

"I... saw you using chopsticks at breakfast. You looked like you had used them since childhood."

Crawford nodded, but didn't comment to affirm or deny the observation. He crossed his legs under the table. Aya looked inside the teapot, but the tea looked like it was still brewing so he let the metal lid snap shut. He looked into the apartment, but the tinted windows only let him see to the edge of the sofa bed and Schuldig wasn't standing within that distance.

He looked back at Crawford. The man was slipping on a pair of sunglasses. "Will Schuldig stop teasing me?"

Crawford leaned forward and began pouring tea into both cups. "Unlikely. Playing mind games is what he does."

Aya pondered this. "Does he play games with you?" he asked after a pause.

Crawford smiled slightly. "Not anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because he knows there are consequences to playing games with me. And to those under my protection." Here, he looked pointedly at Aya.

"And what about when my protection ends?" Aya questioned.

"Then I suppose he will resume pursuing you until you sleep with him or he loses interest, the latter of which is doubtful considering he tends to choose conquests based upon internal more than external attributes."

Aya flushed, not liking at all the candid way in which Crawford mentioned the prospect of him having sex with Schuldig. He shivered slightly and took up his cup of tea, sipping the hot liquid and letting the smell of it overpower his senses.

"Do you know yet if Takatori wishes for me to work with Schwarz?"

"No. But if he does not, then he is paying your skills a compliment."

Aya pursed his lips. He figured Takatori just didn't want him to make a nuisance chasing after Aya-chan, creating chaos in whatever plan the corrupt egomaniac had for her. He hoped it had nothing to do with his perverted, pedophilic son. God, he hoped that was not the case.

 "How did your team end up working for Takatori anyway?" he asked.

"Money," Crawford said impassively, leaning forward and picking up his cup of tea.

"And that's all?"

Crawford shrugged.

"Weiss Kreuz had an ethical code," Aya said.

Crawford's brows rose, but the man didn't say anything.

"Does Schwarz?"

Crawford simply smiled and sipped at his tea.

"Does Schwarz?" Aya repeated.

"I'm not having this discussion with you," Crawford said quietly. "Have it with Farfarello if you must. He had a very moral upbringing."

"Farfarello is not mentally stable."

"As I understand it, insanity applies to anyone at risk of harming themselves and/or others. Who, then, in this apartment is sane? Unless, of course, you no longer wish to harm Reiji Takatori."

Aya simmered, but after a pause, grudgingly admitted, "Point taken."

Crawford drained his cup and poured himself another. "Drink up," he said. "I'll help you attend to your hair when you're finished."

After tea, Aya followed Crawford back to the bathroom where Crawford instructed Aya to strip to his waist and sit on a stool in front of the sink. Crawford took a toiletry case out from the cabinet as well as one of the boxes of black dye. Inside were some clips, vaseline, and a few pairs of latex gloves.

"Not allergic to latex?"

"No."

"Good. Wait here. I'll fetch an old towel and napkins," Crawford said, and left the bathroom. Schuldig appeared in the doorway moments later and smirked at him.

"Looking good,  _Katzerl_."

"Fuck off," Aya growled under his breath.

Schuldig laughed, then, glancing to the side, turned and walked away. Moments later, Crawford returned. He set up, then began clipping up Aya's hair and smearing vaseline on the edge of Aya's hairline.

Aya watched him work in the mirror. "You've obviously done this before."

Crawford nodded, not looking at him, but concentrating on where he was applying the dye to the left side of Aya's head with his gloves.

"Farfarello?"

"Mmhm." Crawford's glasses were slipping down his nose. He pushed them back with his wrist.

"Schuldig?"

"Mmm."

"How long have you been the leader of Schwarz?"

Crawford glanced at him in the mirror this time. "Abyssinian was an appropriate name," he commented. "Curiosity will get you hurt, Fujimiya. Maybe you would be better off entertaining intimacy with Schuldig. Nip that curiosity in the bud before you become seriously compromised."

"Is he more likely to answer my questions?"

"He appears to take more risks than the rest of us, but I wouldn’t know. Tilt your head the other way."

"You're not simply trying to set me up with him, are you?"

Crawford chuckled softly. "Perhaps." He fingered a scar on Aya's scalp, just above Aya's right ear, causing Aya to tense. "Where's you get this?"

"Piece of shrapnel from when Takatori blew up my parents' house," Aya replied.

"Hm." Crawford glanced downwards, at Aya's back, his eyes settling on another scar on Aya's right shoulder blade. It wasn't from the Takatori explosion, but from a Weiss mission where a bullet from their target's bodyguards had grazed him. But Crawford didn't ask him about it, instead looking back at Aya's hair, which was by now almost completely slicked in the black dye.

Then it was done, the colour massaged in, and Crawford stepped back and snapped off the gloves. "Wait here. I'll come back after it has set," he said.

"Do you have anything to read?"

"I'll check." Tossing the gloves in the bin, Crawford disappeared in the direction of Schuldig's and Nagi's rooms. He soon returned, a car magazine in hand, assumedly from Schuldig. Aya nodded his thanks. Crawford disappeared again, leaving him alone.

Aya began flicking through the magazine. He wasn't surprised when, a few moments later, just as he was half-way through an exultant review of a Lamborghini, he saw Schuldig emerge in the corner of his eye. The man entered the room and ambled over to the toilet, unzipping his pants as he went. Aya glared at the picture of the Lamb, clenching his teeth as he heard the other man urinating into the bowl.

Then, silence.

Too much silence.

Aya started when he felt large, warm hands grip his upper arms. He was about to look up when he felt something else, swollen, large, silky, and warm settle in the centre of his bare back. He cringed away, but Schuldig's hands wouldn't let him, holding him fast. Nor would they give him enough leeway to elbow him. He reached back with his hands and attempted to grab his legs.

Of course, as he feared, Schuldig predicted his movement. As he reached back, Schuldig's arms slid down his arms and shoved him forward, against the cabinet. Aya groaned as the edge of the cabinet struck him in the belly, winding him. He grabbed an electric toothbrush, ripping off the top, and struck down, attempting to stab the man in the arm. Once again, he missed by mere millimetres, Schuldig again eluding him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Aya hissed. He yelped when Schuldig slammed Aya's hand - the one holding the toothbrush base - against the cabinet top, prompting him to release it. It clattered to the tiled floor and began whirring. Schuldig shoved Aya up against the cabinet edge again and Aya cried out, doubling up over the sink, shivering as he felt his slacks and briefs slide down his legs to puddle around his feet.

"Stand down, Stefan!"

And suddenly, abruptly, to Aya's immense relief, Crawford was back and Schuldig's hands were gone from his person. Warily, still bent over the sink, Aya looked towards the doorway where Crawford was standing, sleeves still rolled up, eyeing the man behind Aya. The cold look in his eyes made Aya shiver.

"Well," Schuldig said coolly. "You  _were_ going to get him to shower now, weren't you?"

Crawford glared at him. "This is a warning, Schuldig. One more and I'll compromise you. Get your damn cock and the rest of you out of here. I'll call you when you're required."

Schuldig snorted and Aya heard him zip up his pants. "As you wish. I'll find some other black haired twink to fuck," he snarled. Then he stalked out, heading towards his room. Moments later, he passed them again, wearing a jacket. Aya heard the front door slam. He looked back at Crawford and cringed when he saw the man was eyeing him coldly.

"You should sleep with him," Crawford said quietly. "Then he'll lose interest."

Aya glared at him and straightened slowly, holding his arm protectively over his lower abdomen. He would have bruises. He only hoped that was all Schuldig had caused. The man had certainly slammed him into the cabinet hard enough for furtherdamage.

Crawford snapped on a fresh pair of gloves and took up some napkins. "Here," he said. "Forget your pants. Let me wipe off the vaseline. Then I'll leave you to shower and lather in the dye. The conditioner's on the side. I assume you know how to do the rest?"

"Yes." Or at least, Aya knew that if he forgot how to do a step, there were instructions on the side of the empty box that had contained the dye and that was on the cabinet top.

Grudgingly, Aya let him clean off the goo coating his hairline. Then Crawford left, shutting the door quietly, leaving Aya to shakily toe off the garments puddled around his feet and limp into the shower.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing the clothes he had been wearing earlier, Crawford was waiting for him in the main room with a couple of pain relief tablets and a glass of water. Aya chugged them down and sank onto the sofa bed.

_Schuldig's cock had been in his back._

_Schuldig's erect cock._

He shuddered. "Do you all sleep with Schuldig if he wants you to, then?" he asked.

Crawford actually laughed. Aya looked at him where the man stood by the kitchen counter, washing up.

_So Crawford cleans too._

"You don't have the ability to fight Schuldig, Fujimiya," he said. "Everyone else here, however, is not in that predicament."

_And when he said that he would find someone else to fuck? Possibly to rape? Was he joking then?_

But Aya didn't dare voice that question. He was glad that Crawford couldn't read his mind.

"Nagi should be back soon. He's picking up clothes for you."

_Pants with belts, hopefully._

It had been many months since Aya had felt as compromised as Schuldig had made him feel only minutes before. Not since he had last fought Schwarz had he felt so out of his league.

_What am I doing here?_

One thing was certain. Schwarz certainly were not just 'hit men'. They were not Weiss Kreuz. They were something else entirely.

Dinner that night was a quiet affair. Schuldig was absent. Farfarello did the cooking again, a barbeque squid dish with a tuna salad. Nagi asked after Schuldig, but did not question Crawford further when Crawford told the boy that Schuldig was eating out.

After dinner, the three present Schwarz members disappeared to the apartment's office for what Aya assumed was a team meeting of sorts. Shortly after they re-emerged, Nagi and Crawford got dressed and left the apartment, leaving Aya in the main room and Farfarello, assumedly, in the man's room.

In the quiet, Aya examined the clothes Nagi had obtained for him. There were nine outfits in all, two high quality assassination - “job” costumes complete with proper gloves, boots, and hoods. Five exercise outfits, and the rest were neat casual wear. All appeared made of expensive, comfortable material.

He tried on a few of the latter outfits and was in the middle of assessing the fit of one of them in a bathroom mirror when Farfarello suddenly appeared at the doorway. He turned to look at the white-haired man.

“Do you need the bathroom?”

Farfarello shook his head. At the sight of something bright red and wet on the white man’s left forearm, Aya looked down and saw a fresh deep cut on the man’s wrist, similar in shape to the series of white scars surrounding it.

“You’re bleeding,” he remarked. He glanced at the bathroom cabinet. “Are there bandages here?” His gaze returned to the Irishman’s, unconsciously latching onto the old scars that littered the other’s face, as they did his body. Nose, cheeks, chin… He realised that he was staring, that Farfarello - not culturally Japanese - was watching his eyes - and he hurriedly lowered his gaze.

Farfarello said nothing. The man padded into the room and over to said cabinet. Upon opening the cabinet, he took out a padded bandage and a bottle of antiseptic; then turned and retreated from the bathroom, apparently headed back to his bedroom.

Aya hurriedly finished up and walked back to the living room where he changed back into the hoodie and sweat pants. He turned on the television and sank down onto the sofa bed to watch the late news. About twenty minutes later, Farfarello appeared and began pottering around the kitchen. There were stitches along where the cut had been.

“Do you want some fruit?” the man asked abruptly.

Aya turned and observed a chopping up board covered in neatly sliced rockmelon and strawberries. Farfarello’s single eye was regarding him with a guarded expression that Aya recognised as wary, but not unfriendly.

“Yes, please.”

The other man nodded and Aya looked back at the news. A few minutes later Farfarello sat down on the arm of the sofa, two bowls of fruit in hand. He passed one to Aya and they sat, watching the news and eating in silence.

Shortly afterwards, both Nagi and Crawford returned. Nagi went straight to his room. Aya looked at Crawford and noticed that the spectacled man was observing him and Farfarello on the sofa, no expression on his face. For the first time that day, Aya noticed how tired the other man looked. He frowned.

“Something wrong, Crawford?” he asked.

Crawford’s blinked. Then he lowered his eyes and pushed his glasses slightly up his nose. “Your first assignment has been moved forward to tonight,” he said. “Come with me. Let’s discuss the particulars.”

“Just him?” Farfarello asked softly. The man was watching their conversation attentively.

“Just him,” Crawford said. “I’ll brief you and Schuldig later. Nagi is staying here.”

Farfarello frowned. “Schuldig’s still out,” he said.

Crawford smirked. “We’ll meet him there.” Aya watched him exchange a look with Farfarello, who snorted.

“He won’t be pleased,” the Irishman said quietly.

“He’ll get there.” Crawford looked back at Aya. “Come, Fujimiya.” Then he turned and walked down the  _other_  corridor. Aya rose and followed, and found himself being taken to Schwarz’s office.

It was a very different space from Weiss Kreuz’s basement mission area. On one side: massive wall-length windows, which Aya assumed were tinted, allowed one to gaze over the thousands of city lights. The room itself was plushly carpeted in cream. In the centre was a large and low glass table. About it rested a few assorted armchairs - five in total - and a lounge. There were a series of wall length cupboards along one of the white walls.

It looked more like a luxurious lounge room than a mission preparatory area.

“Sit,” Crawford told him, and Aya took one of the armchairs, his eyes fixing on a long jagged crack in the coffee table as he did so. There was a silencer on the table. Crawford took a chair across from him and, apparently having noticed his gaze, said, “The table will be replaced tomorrow.”

“Who damaged it?”

“Nagi.” Crawford leaned back in his chair, frowned suddenly, then took a semi-automatic pistol out of his gun holster and ejected the magazine. He glanced at the number of cartridges left, then - apparently satisfied - refilled the gun. Then he put the gun back in his holster.

“Are you expecting company?” Aya asked gruffly.

Crawford just smiled coldly at him. “Tell me what you know of Reiichi Shirasagi.”

Aya blinked.  _Why are they interested in Tokyo Crashers?_  “He’s known as Bishop. He’s a member of a unit that I used to work on called Tokyo Crashers. When I worked for them, the unit worked with the police to catch criminals - framing, rescue operations, trapping them at the scene, causing general mayhem… It was a non-lethal unit. I haven’t seen Bishop or the other guys for years. I don’t know what they do nowadays.”

Crawford nodded and took a photo out of an inside pocket in his jacket. He slid it across the table to Aya, over the long crack. “This is what he looks like now.”

Aya glanced at the familiar face. Shirasagi’s hair was a little longer and he looked a bit heavier, but otherwise he looked the same as Aya remembered. He nodded. He felt a little sick at the thought of killing the teenager… well, now man, and he quickly suppressed thoughts of familiarity. “Yes, that’s him. Is he my target?”

“Yes. He’s spending the night with his girlfriend at a nearby hotel. He will have his laptop with him. Once inside the hotel, you will head to the room: 915. Kill Shirasagi. Take the device. Do not kill his companion if you can help it. It is imperative, however, that she not see you. Use the emergency stairs to get out. We’ll rendezvous in an alley that I’ll show to you.”

“What about security?”

“That’s Schwarz’s job.”

“And my weapon?” Aya glanced at Crawford’s jacket where it covered the hidden pistol. Crawford smirked and rose to go over to the cupboards. He opened one of the doors, glanced up and down at the various swords displayed within, then took out a sheathed katana. He turned and threw it at Aya, who caught it and drew it to examine the blade. Crawford shut the cupboard and returned to his seat.

“Is there time for me to practice?” Aya asked.

Crawford nodded. “Use the gym,” he said. “Be ready to leave at midnight. Wear neat casual.”

“Understood.” Aya rose and left the room to go to the work out area. Inside, he found that half the room was devoted to weights and two treadmills. The other half was bare. He headed to that area and, drawing the katana, did his best to try to get used to the weight and feel of this new weapon.

_This is as much of a test as a mission. Schwarz’s job is also to be my plan B._

Momentarily, his thoughts drifted back to Bishop. He grimaced when he fumbled with the katana.

 _Not good. I can’t think about Reiichi. He’s just a target._ He breathed deeply.  _Just a target. Kill the target and get out._ He glanced at the clock on the wall. Already it was 23:10. And then it was 23:30, and then 23:45 and he left the room to pick out his gear for the deed.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

At midnight, Aya was dressed - his katana hidden neatly beneath the elegant drape of an overcoat, and he, Farfarello and Crawford left the apartment and headed downstairs to the lobby of the building. They had no sooner exited the lobby than a sleek black car drew up and the driver waved at Crawford. Nodding at the driver, they all got inside. Crawford began talking to Farfarello in English, assumedly briefing the man of the mission. Farfarello said little, apparently content to just accept the tasks and trust Crawford’s direction. No surprise, given Oracle’s incredible psychic ability.

A fifteen minute drive away, the car drew into a dimly lit alleyway that ran at the rear of a strip of restaurants and stopped. They didn’t get out. Crawford, in the front seat beside the driver, leaned back and pointed behind them with a gloved hand to a tower building that they had passed on the corner.

“That’s the hotel,” he said. “The side entrance is under that broken light.”

They waited for about half an hour, no one talking. And then, finally, Crawford opened the door and got out. Farfarello and Aya followed, Farfarello bringing up the rear.

Aya had expected the side entrance to be locked, but to his surprise, Crawford opened it with ease and led the way into the back hallway of the hotel. Despite the fact that there were security cameras everywhere, Crawford seemed unconcerned.

_Schwarz must have taken all the cameras out. Probably unlocked the doors and broke that side door light too. Maybe that’s what Crawford and Nagi were doing earlier._

They didn’t pass anyone as they headed to the lift area. On the other side of the lobby was the front reception desk and a security desk, but to Aya’s curiosity, neither the two clerks chattering to each other softly, nor the security guard, looked at them. Not even when the elevator doors opened with a cheerful bell.

Entering, Crawford pressed the button to the fifth floor, which confused Aya a little as he would have picked the ninth floor for room 915. The elevator rose sweepingly and with another cheerful bell, its doors slid open…

…to admit a familiar tall German with tousled orange hair, glaring eyes, and a large scowl on his face. He seemed to be almost bristling with anger, which - from the direction of his stare - was mostly directed at Crawford. As the doors shut and Crawford selected the ninth floor, Aya wondered what was the matter between them. He glanced at Schuldig’s get up: it was surprisingly casual compared to what he usually saw the other man wear - a charcoal hoodie, black scarf and beanie, black trackpants, and sneakers.

The lift swept further up. The doors opened and this time, they all stepped out and walked down the corridor until they reached a door labeled 915, turning off the hallway light as they went. In the dim light from the windows beyond, Schuldig took a card out of his pocket, slid it into the door’s lock, and the door opened quietly. Then, with a smirk at Aya, the first eye contact he had given him in the hotel, he gave a mocking little bow and gestured for Aya to enter the room.

Aya glanced at Crawford. The man nodded.  _He's all yours_ , his look seemed to say.

Aya nodded, pulled on his balaclava, and slid quietly into the darkened room. In Schuldig's hands, the door shut soundlessly behind him.

_Please let Reiichi be asleep._

But he wasn't. Of course he wasn't. Aya wasn't at all surprised:  _I'm not that lucky._  Aya heard the soft smooth patter of keys being depressed on a keyboard long before he reached the end of the hallway and could see into the bedroom by way of the hall mirror.

Reiichi was awake and sitting on an armchair on the car side of the room; by the window. He was facing the end of the enormous bed and the hallway where Aya was standing, but he had apparently not yet noticed Aya. His glasses on, he was sitting hunched over a laptop, a headset on, listening as he typed. Some sort of surveillance, it looked like.

Aya looked at the reflection of the bed. There was a woman lying asleep under the covers.

 _Ideally, I'd use a ranged weapon._ But there was nothing for it; he only had his sword and there was no way for him to make his way around the room to the chair without entering the light. He pursed his lips. There was no way that Schuldig didn’t know that Bishop was awake.  _This must be a test of my abilities._

He closed his eyes briefly, focussed on clearing his mind - reducing his memories of Bishop to naught - to seeing the target across the room as just that - just a body to be cut off. And then he turned and ran across the room to slash that body across the neck.

He slashed so hard that he almost severed clean through Reiichi’s neck. And then, as he gazed upon the face of his former colleague, he felt a strange numbness, a sensation of deep unsettlement. He didn’t flinch as the warm blood spurted across his top and the tops of his thighs as the flow settled.

 _Oh… Gods. Oh, oh…_  His face contorted and he hurriedly turned and stalked from the room. At the door, he cleaned his katana with shaking hands, and sheathed it. And then, just as he was reaching for the doorknob, he recalled - with a shiver - that he had forgotten one other component of his mission.

_The laptop._

He turned and strode back. It was drenched in blood, the head lolling uselessly over it, soaked tendrils of hair lying across its surface. Careful where he tread, Aya reached out and grabbed it, glanced at the bed a last time to reassure himself that the woman still slept - her breathing deep and even, and then left - wrapping the device in a towel from the bathroom as he did so.

The corridor appeared deserted when he left and Aya hurried to the emergency stairs. Upon opening the door, he jumped when he saw Schuldig waiting there for him. The German was leaning against the wall on the stairwell. He glanced at Aya and nodded.

“A bit messy,” he commented quietly. “Come on.” He began hurrying down the steps and Aya followed.

Aya considered his words as they descended the levels.  _He’s not wearing an ear piece. How does he know what I did?_ Three floors down, still six from ground level, he finally asked, “Were you looking through my eyes?”

Mastermind snorted. “What do you think,  _Katzerl_?”

“I don’t think I should, around you.”

A low, silky chuckle. “Oh, that would be so tiresome. Besides, you couldn’t resist it, Pussy.”

Aya’s eyes narrowed.

They reached the landing, went into the lobby - despite Aya’s misgivings that the clerks and security guard would notice them  _this_  time. Once again, however, and - probably by Schwarz’s design as Aya was now suspecting - none of them looked in their direction. He and Schuldig walked across the floor, exited through the side entrance, and crossed the alley to return to the car.

Crawford was standing beside the vehicle, smoking. He glanced Aya up and down, taking in his blood stained clothes with a critical purse of his lips, then looked back at the hotel. His whole body radiated irritated impatience.

“Get in the car,” he said quietly, his voice hard. “Schuldig, what’s keeping Farfarello?”

“Art,” Schuldig replied, opening a door and ushering Aya inside. Aya ignored him, watching the two men curiously. “I’ll tell him to hurry up,” Schuldig continued.

Crawford nodded once, curtly. “The woman?”

“In an endless sleep.”

Crawford turned his head to stare at Schuldig. He looked furious. Aya would have been intimidated, but Schuldig - no, Schuldig grinned widely at him. So widely that it looked more like a snarl and Aya realised it  _was_ a snarl when the German then said, a hiss in his voice, “You denied me a really good night. Be glad I didn’t get into your fucked up little brain, Bradley.”

“What’s going on?” Aya asked.

Schuldig glanced at him. Crawford too. Crawford spoke first. “Get in the car, Aya.”

“No.”

There was a tense pause. And then, with a huffed exhalation, his eyes narrowing, Crawford drew his gun, the silencer attached to it, and pointed it at Aya’s head.

“Get in the car,” he said coldly. “I won’t ask you again.”

Aya blinked.

“Get in the car,  _Katzerl_.” Schuldig echoed Oracle’s words quietly. “Crawford is economical in his movements. He will shoot you if you do not do as he wishes now.”

Aya quietly, obediently descended into the car. He shifted over when Schuldig got in as well. The laptop was still wrapped in the towel on his lap. He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying not to think too much about the sticky fluid drying on his clothing or the owner of the liquid. It was done now. He was effectively no longer a member of Weiss Kreuz. He had broken one of their central tenets.

He heard the door on Schuldig’s side shut.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence. And then, finding the other man’s absolute silence a little weird, Aya opened his eyes and looked sidelong at the German. He was a little surprised to find Schuldig staring absently at the back of the driver’s seat, no expression on his face.

“Did Farfarello kill Reiichi’s girlfriend?” Aya asked.

Schuldig blinked and looked at him. He smiled slightly. “He went to cover your tracks: to mask your shoe prints and cover the type of wound with a little knife work. I woke her up to keep him entertained.”

Aya stared at him. He felt suddenly sick. “You’re sick,” he stated.

A low chuckle. “Would it help to say she was pregnant?"

“You’re joking.”

Another cackle. Mastermind truly seemed to find his incredulous horror deeply amusing. Aya wondered if he was joking; somehow, he wasn’t so sure.

“How’d Farfarello kill her?” He knew he shouldn’t be asking, shouldn’t be seeking information that he knew would only make him feel even worse, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Same way you killed Shirasagi,” Mastermind supplied, and then turned to look out of the rear window. “Here he comes now. A little cleaner than you, but you’ll get better with practice. And a team, of course.”

Aya turned to regard Beserker as the white haired man stalked up to the car, his single visible eye glaring, a sneer on his face. He opened the car door on Schuldig’s side and glared down at the lounging, smirking German.

“You fucking bastard,” he hissed.

Schuldig chuckled and slid over into the middle of the car to make room for his team mate. He crooked a beckoning finger at the Irishman. Farfarello scowled and climbed in to take his vacated seat.

Aya tensed when Schuldig’s arm came around the back of his shoulders. He watched Farfarello jerk like a cat when Schuldig’s other arm treated the other man similarly.

In front of them, Crawford opened the front passenger seat door, got in, and slammed the door. He didn’t look or speak to any of them during the journey back. They travelled back to Schwarz’s apartment building in silence.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

Once in the apartment, Oracle turned and stared coldly at them.

“Fujimiya,” he snapped. “And  _you_ ,” he seethed, staring at Schuldig. “In the office.” Then, in a more level voice, he added, “Farfarello, go to bed.”

Beserker ducked out from under Schuldig’s arm and stalked off to his room. Crawford turned away and strode to the office. Schuldig didn’t immediately move and, consequently, Aya didn’t either as the German’s arm was still around his shoulders.

“Are we following?” Aya asked after a pause. He still felt numb, doubted that he would feel anything close to normal for a few days given the events of the last 48 hours and especially, that night’s mission. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the end of Crawford’s gun pointing at him, the safety latch off, that ruthless cold stare in Oracle’s eyes.

The memory suddenly shifted and he felt his stomach lurch as he recalled seeing the emptiness enter Reiichi’s eyes, seeing the other man’s body fall still.

Schuldig began moving forward. “Okay,  _Katzerl_. Let’s get this debrief over and done with.”

Aya forced his legs to move, his head swimming slightly, stomach churning. When they arrived in the office, he saw Crawford standing in front of the windows, his back to them. The gun had disappeared.

Aya realised that he was sweating slightly when Schuldig lowered him into one of the armchairs in the office. The absence of the press of the man’s arm around his back left a hot trail of sweat in its wake.

Schuldig took the towel clad laptop from him and set it on the coffee table. He tore the blood caked towel free from the lid of the device.

“Lovely,” he commented, his lip curling as he looked at the dried blood streaking the surface of the laptop. Then he looked up at Crawford, who had turned to look at the laptop also. “Should we have brought it here?”

“Prodigy disabled its connections before we arrived back,” Crawford said quietly, walking over to the cupboard. He took a box of latex gloves out of the cupboard and brought them over to the table. He snapped on a pair; then sat down beside Aya to open the lid and turn the computer on. It was fortunate that Bishop had shut his computer before he had died; Aya doubted the laptop would have been functional if the man had bled into his keyboard.

Schuldig smirked slightly as if he had heard him - he probably had - but the German didn’t say anything. Instead, Schuldig sat in the armchair next to Crawford and watched the American Japanese man enter a password and begin searching through computer files.

“What was he tracking?” Schuldig asked curiously.

“Something that would have been easier to obtain if you hadn’t removed the woman,” Crawford replied quietly, his attention on the screen.

“She was an optional kill,” Schuldig replied dismissively, lazing back in his chair, arms folded behind his head.

“Optional being a key word,” Crawford replied. “Now both his and her histories will be investigated by Kritiker and the police, and our access to the next venue even more limited as a result.”

“More interesting, you mean,” Schuldig said amusedly.

“If you say so,” Crawford said. Bewilderingly to Aya, Oracle smirked across the room at Mastermind. Suddenly, the Schwarz teammates that had been seething at each other less than an hour ago in a deserted alleyway, were joking around. “You’ll have more to do, certainly.”

“I love it when you take me for a ride. Literally and figuratively,” Schuldig remarked. He laughed and Crawford’s smirk widened.

Crawford worked in silence for a few minutes longer. Then, with a pleased snort, he announced, quietly, “Got it.”

“What is it?” Aya asked curiously.

Crawford looked at him. He smiled, his eyes no longer hard and ruthless, but suddenly - full of a quiet glee. Yet, somehow, that made his following words more unsettling.

“Schwarz’s next assignment,” he said.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

Aya slept badly. In the morning, he awoke to Farfarello calling his name. When he awoke enough to realise that Berserker wanted to know what he wanted to eat for breakfast, he sat up and stared bleary-eyed at the white haired man.

“Do you eat together every day?” he asked, eyeing the table behind the other man and noticing that it had been set for five.

“Yes,” said Schuldig’s voice. Aya started and looked behind him to see Schuldig coming in from the balcony, a cigarette stub in his hands. The man looked like he hadn’t gone to bed last night, deep bags under his eyes. He was wearing the same clothes that he had been wearing last night. The last Aya had seen him before falling asleep was standing on the balcony, smoking, his back to the apartment.

“Will that be a problem?” Schuldig asked, looking pointedly at Aya.

 _When did Schuldig become the serious one?_  Aya wondered if Crawford had said anything to Schuldig last night pertaining to him. After telling him that Schwarz had a new assignment, and not specifying anything more than that, Crawford had sent him to bed and stayed on with Schuldig in the office for a while afterwards.

Schuldig flashed him a shit eating grin. “If you’d rather, you can suck my dick for breakfast,” he said. He chuckled when Aya recoiled. “We’ll work on that response, Kitten.” He purred and then, apparently finished toying with the guest, lifted his gaze from Aya’s distressed face to Farfarello’s amused one. “Fujimiya-san will have a Japanese breakfast, please, Beserker-san.”

Farfarello nodded and turned away to begin preparing breakfast.

“Why do you eat together?” Aya asked, looking at Schuldig, who came over to the sofa bed and, lifting the cover, climbed underneath and scooted right up to him, wrapping his arm around Aya’s shoulders when Aya tensed, but didn’t move away.

“Oh, it’s nice and warm under here,” the German purred. Aya winced when Schuldig pressed his nose to his shoulder and inhaled deeply. “And you smell good. Just like an indoors cat.”

Aya squirmed and drew away enough to glare at him. “What does that even mean?” he snapped.

“Exactly as it sounds,” Schuldig commented, smiling at him. “Although indoor cats also need worming and flea-treatment. Shall I show you how I do those on a Kritiker Kitty?” A long, cool hand had suddenly slipped under Aya’s pyjama top, stroking across his abdomen and drawing gently up to rub over his left his nipples, pinching it skilfully between calloused fingertips. Aya’s breath hitched as he felt his body respond, his morning erection hardening further, and, jerking away, he climbed hurriedly out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. Behind him, he heard Schuldig laugh and Farfarello say something derisively in English. Aya shut the door and closed his eyes tightly, his face burning.

When Aya returned from the bathroom, the pair were still chatting and Schuldig was still lying in his bed. The television was on a music video channel and, when Aya came into view, Schuldig winked at him and waved an arm in mimicry of the arm motions of the girl group prancing about the screen.

Aya looked away and focussed on Farfarello instead. “Farfarello, can I offer you a hand?” he asked.

The Irishman glanced at him. “No, but perhaps you should get dressed,” he said. “Schuldig will have more difficulty feeling you up if you’re wearing a fitted shirt.”

“Not necessarily, but you’d look better in a fitted shirt anyway,” Schuldig disagreed, shooting him a lascivious look. “You won’t always have that tight little body; you may as well flaunt it whilst you have it. Those shirts you used to wear in the flower shop made my eyes bleed.”

Farfarello cackled and Aya shot his back a glare. The man was busy dolling out rice into bowls. “I wasn’t aware my work clothing was being assessed by the freakshow,” he snapped cuttingly.

“Well it was,” Schuldig said. “Unfortunately for us, we didn’t get any say into your wardrobe, but unfortunately for you, Nagi and Crawford have a better eye for cut and colour than you.”

“No orange sweaters,” Farfarello said as he came over to the table with a plates and bowls loaded with food.

“That sweater was my father’s,” Aya said coldly.

“I don’t care,” Schuldig said quietly. The German climbed off the sofa bed and rummaged amongst the pile of clothing that Nagi had procured for Aya. He pulled out a black shirt, dark blue pants, belt, black dress socks and - after a moment’s deliberation - white underpants, and chucked them onto the side of the sofa closest to Aya. “Here. Wear something flattering for a change.”

Aya shot him a doubtful glare; then snatched up the clothing and stalked back to the bathroom to change. He quickly showered and brushed his teeth whilst he was there. He had to admit that Schuldig was right. He looked… really good in the mirror. And he felt entirely too exposed in the skin-hugging fit. When he returned to the main area, he found Nagi there also. When they saw him, he felt a flush of self-consciousness when all of them stared at his clothing, however briefly.

Already seated and eating, Nagi only glanced him up and down before returning his attention back at his meal. Farfarello, sitting opposite the teenager, smiled and nodded approvingly at Aya.

Schuldig wolf-whistled and winked at him from where he was sitting on the arm of the sofa.

And then Crawford arrived. The man halted upon entering the main room, staring openly at him, no expression on his face. Up and down, his eyes went.

“Looks good, doesn’t he, Oracle,” Schuldig said loudly.

Crawford cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m glad we got your sizing right,” and then the man stalked into the kitchen and pour himself a glass of water before going over to the dining table.

Aya went over to the last place set with a Japanese-looking breakfast. Today, it was next to the last empty place - Schuldig’s. Crawford sat adjacent at the head of the table. Crawford glanced at Schuldig who nodded curtly and came over to drop into the chair beside Aya, his leg deliberately falling open to lean against Aya’s. Aya bit his lower lip. They began eating.

“When do you want me home by, Crawford-san?” Nagi asked politely, breaking the tension at the table slightly. He had almost finished eating.

“We need to leave by six,” Crawford said, looking at him. “Be back by 17:30 for briefing.”

“Understood.” Nagi hurriedly finished and quietly excused himself from the table. Picking up his school bag, he left.

“And me?” Schuldig asked, as soon as the front door had clicked shut behind the younger member of Schwarz.

“As we discussed. Take as long as you need,” Crawford said. “We can meet you there if it takes longer than anticipated.” Oracle then looked at Farfarello. “Berserker, you’re to go with him, but be back here by 13:00. I need to make some calls and receive the table, but I have a few meetings out this afternoon.”

“With Takatori Reiji?” Aya enquired.

Crawford glanced sidelong at him. “You aren’t invited,” he said coldly. “You, Fujimiya-san, are to stay here today unless I indicate otherwise. Understood?”

Aya recalled the gun barrel pointing at his face, the inflexibility in Oracle’s glittering eyes. “Yes,” he said warily. He understood that he, Aya, was a burden on Schwarz. That although he did as asked last night, he still created a mess for the other men. He understood that they didn’t trust him at all.

“We don’t trust that you won’t be recognised,” Schuldig said, apparently reading his thoughts again.

Aya snapped. “Get the fuck out of my head!” he hissed, whirling on the German. “And stop touching me.” He faltered, seeing the giant grin on Schuldig’s face.

_Why am I shouting at someone who isn’t intimidated in the slightest, who is so much more powerful than me, who can read what I’m thinking even now?_

“Why indeed,  _Katzerl_?” Schuldig purred. “You look so good right now with that blush reddening your cheeks and your lips apart.”

It was suddenly very silent about the table. Aya didn’t dare look away from Mastermind’s gleaming eyes, but he was painfully aware of the fact that both Berserker  _and_  Oracle were sitting close by, not eating, just… watching.

 _If he decided to rape me right now… and if the rest of Schwarz didn’t intervene, there would be nothing I could do about it. I’m not powerful enough. I can’t prevent him from manipulating my thoughts._  Omi had once told him, seriously, that Mastermind was so capable of penetrating others’ thoughts that he could make someone think they were in love, could make them commit suicide, could make them kill.

“Schuldig.”

Crawford voice was cutting. It pulled Aya out of the depressed fog that had swallowed his mind and abruptly, he felt unquantifiably lighter. He gasped for breath, then shuddered and looked around at the other Japanese man.

Oracle was looking at Mastermind, his black eyes calm and steady. Aya noticed that there were circles of tiredness under his eyes.

_Managing this team of misfits must be exhausting. He couldn’t have had much sleep yesterday._

Schuldig suddenly excused himself, his tone light, got up and left the table. Crawford abruptly looked back at his meal and resumed eating. His handling of chopsticks was smooth and nimble, just like a local.

Then breakfast was over. Crawford gathered up the empty plates with Farfarello and left the latter to load the dishwasher. Then he disappeared off to the office. After finishing up in the kitchen, Farfarello disappeared into his room briefly. When he returned, he was wearing an overcoat. He put on a pair of boots and left the apartment. Not long after, Schuldig reappeared, wearing a suit, his hair neatly tied back in a ponytail. He winked at Aya and then left also.

Which left Aya alone in the main room of the apartment, and - aside from Crawford - alone in the apartment. Uncertain if he was supposed to be doing anything, he returned to the sofa bed and switched on the television to find the morning news. Minutes into watching, he found himself staring at a report of the finding of his bombed out car and hearing himself declared dead. He stared at the photograph of his ruined pride and joy, its white shell blackened and crumpled. That it had happened at all already felt like a dream, as if he could walk out of this apartment right now, catch a taxi back to the flower shop, put on his green apron and set to work alongside Yohji - for it would be his and Yohji’s shift this morning - and still find his beloved Porsche sitting in the garage.

Today, Yohji would be minding the shop alone. Or perhaps Ken would be joining him. Or perhaps the shop would be shut and the three of them would be hard at work, trying to figure out why he had killed himself and if he had killed himself at all.

The remote was suddenly plucked out of his hand and the screen went black. He turned to look up at Crawford. The man glanced critically down at him.

“Persia filtered the report,” the man said.

“He always does,” Aya replied.

“Kritiker considers you alive.”

“The dental records will take a while to come back,” Aya agreed. “It may take perhaps a week, maybe more, before they’re convinced.”

Crawford smirked. “That isn’t what I meant.”

Aya blinked. Then he frowned. “Kritiker hired Bishop to investigate on my death?”

_I should have killed him with something other than a katana. No wonder Berserker covered my work._

“Amongst other things,” Oracle said quietly. “As for Kritiker eventually considering you dead, that depends. I don’t foresee your former team mates believing you dead long, if at all.”

It was the first time Crawford had referred to his powers of foresight and Aya shot him a suspicious look. “Are you saying that they will know that I’m alive? Soon?”

“I’m saying that the future is changeable,” Crawford said flatly. He switched the television back on - the report of the destroyed Porsche and its supposed drug affected or suicidal driver had changed to a report about the rising price of milk. Pushing his slipping glasses back up his nose, Oracle glanced back at him and said, simply, “Don’t leave the apartment today.” Then he turned and walked away, heading back to the office, taking out his mobile as he went. Aya heard him greeting someone via the device before the office door shut.

He turned his attention back to the television, but in the wake of Crawford’s warning, he couldn’t concentrate on the screen. He turned the television off and ran his hands through his hair, then slumped back and stared up at the ceiling.

 _What am I missing?_  he asked himself.

Given that Crawford had not corrected him on his assumption that Kritiker had hired Bishop to investigate his death, he wondered if this also meant that the remaining members of Weiss Kreuz were also on his case. They had probably all visited the crime scene and - Omi at least - would be regularly hacking into the forensic evidence as it accumulated and the results of pathology came back.

This also meant that Kritiker, if in doubt about the validity of his death, would be looking towards his last movements. Aya-chan’s kidnapping with Schwarz sighted on camera and then an unrecorded conversation with Oracle in that warehouse… everything pointed towards Schwarz.

Aya exhaled shakily and abruptly sat up. Even without Kritiker’s backing, Weiss Kreuz wouldn’t leave Schwarz alone after this event. Not if they thought they might have had something to do with Aya’s disappearance, whether it be murder, suicide or an elaborate trick.

He climbed out of bed and went over to the office. He knocked and a few seconds later, Crawford opened the door. The other man was on the phone and he frowned at Aya briefly, then - seeing his serious expression - waved him towards an armchair before shutting the door and continuing his conversation.

“Sorry, could you repeat your question?” he asked quietly as he turned and walked past the chairs to go over to the window. “Today. That was what you instructed, but if you wish to delay, that is your prerogative.” He was silent for a while before clearing his throat and speaking again. “Sir, as you insist: my advice is that you continue as planned.”

Aya looked at the coffee table. It had been moved across the room to sit by the door, ready for replacement. It’s surface had been cleaned and the laptop had disappeared.

“No, I’m not currently at the hospital,” Crawford continued, “but two of my team mates are there and I can contact them if you wish… oh, well, if you need me you know the number.” A snort. “Of course. Good day to you too, Sir.”

He lowered the mobile and pressed a button to end the call. There was a long silence.

Finally, Crawford turned around and looked at him. “Did you want something, Fujimiya-san?”

  
“Aya,” Aya said.

“If you wish,” Crawford replied. “Aya.” He pocketed the phone and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

“Both Kritiker  _and_  my old team are chasing Schwarz, aren’t they,” Aya stated. “Because of me. And now Bishop’s death.”

“Kritiker has always attempted to track us,” Crawford said. “Unsuccessfully,” he added.

“Not like this,” Aya pointed out. “It’s personal now, with Schwarz linked to both Bishop and me. There’s a high risk my old team mates will find me, isn’t there. That’s why you’re worried about me leaving the apartment.”

Crawford stared at him thoughtfully for a bit. Then he said, softly, “They’re in the building now.”

“They’re not delivering the coffee table, are they?”

A smirk.

Aya swore. “Seriously?” he asked incredulously.

“It is possible.”

“You don’t seem concerned,” Aya noted.

“It’s unlikely that they’ll see you,” Crawford said.

Aya didn’t question  _how_  the man knew this probability, putting it down to the man’s psychic forecasting abilities. Instead, he ventured, “How’d they find this building anyway?”

Crawford shrugged. “That’s our employer’s concern.”

His impassiveness was testament to Schwarz’s abilities. Aya wondered how much the other man had foreseen of Weiss Kreuz’s attempts to track down his team.

“Besides staying put in the apartment,” he ventured then, “is there anything I can do to help?”

“Do you have any other weapon proficiencies that Kritiker doesn’t know about?” Crawford asked bluntly.

“…No.” He could throw daggers and knew enough fist fighting to get himself the upper hand in a pinch with amateurs, but that was essentially it for his non-katana battle skill set.

Crawford huffed.

“What about other tasks?” Aya offered. “I don’t mean surveillance or computer work; I’m sure Mastermind and yourself, and Prodigy cover those bases. But anything more… menial?”

“Housework?” Crawford’s voice was cautious.

Aya blinked.  _Well, okay._ He actually liked doing housework. It had always helped him to clear his mind. “Would it help?”

Crawford adjusted his glasses. “It would. We do have a chore roster for the shared areas, but individual rooms are inevitably neglected.”

 _And the shared areas aren’t neglected?_ Aya had the odd feeling that any laziness by the members of Schwarz was met with Oracle’s gun.

Then Crawford added, “However, I’m not sure you’d appreciate Schuldig’s reaction to seeing you cooking in the kitchen or scrubbing the bathroom floor.”

Aya bit his lower lip. He could well imagine the randy German’s reaction. “But I have your protection, right?”

Crawford’s eyes narrowed, but the man nodded curtly. “I’ll print you the shared house roster so you can see how the work is divided, and also a list of what tasks you can help with, including our particulars regarding foods and our rooms.”

Aya blinked. He was to be allowed access to their rooms? Just like that? If he had been a double agent, he would have been revelling in this news. As it was, the first feeling he had was a sense of dread as he imagined Schuldig finding Aya changing his sheets. To his mortification, he felt his penis twitch slightly at the idea.

He watched Crawford walk over to one of the cupboards and open the double doors, revealing a hidden computer workstation. He watched as the man turned on the computer before pulling out the stool and sitting down. He opened a document and began typing. To Aya’s surprise, the man wasn’t a rapid typer like Omi, but about as quick as he - Aya - was with a keyboard.

Before long, a long, partitioned list had been produced and Crawford switched on the printer on the shelf above the desk and printed out the file. Taking the piece of paper, he turned and handed it to Aya.

“That should keep you occupied for the day,” he said.

Aya scanned it. Household chores, divided up by daily, weekly, and monthly tasks. It was a bit of a thrill to see that even Schuldig had to do work around the apartment. Also, the fact that Crawford had seen to assign him monthly tasks made him feel a little warmer - it was a little comforting to know that he would still be here by the end of one month, at least.

“You’ll find most of the cleaning materials in the kitchen, in the cupboard behind the front door. The others are in the cupboard beside the laundry.”

“Do you have a spare apron?” Aya asked. “Or gloves?”

“In the kitchen,” Crawford repeated, with a small smirk. For a moment, Aya half-feared the other man had read his mind. And then, realising that that was impossible, he just smiled back.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

Aya had thought the different members of Weiss Kreuz were different enough to make for an interesting bunch of guys to cohabit a residence. He had never given much thought to how Schwarz might work as a flatshare beyond vaguely wondering if the crazy psychic crew lived separately and then dismissing the whole concept as a nightmare.

As it happened, and as he already knew, it  _was_  possible and it  _had_ been enacted. And the way it seemed to work was just as Kitty in the House worked. Each member of the team had their own space, but they also spent a decent portion of their day with one another, and during assignments didn’t count.

Weiss Kreuz had their flower shop. Schwarz seemed to have Crawford assigning them surveillance jobs and, oddly enough, aside from Prodigy, they all seemed to be on friendlier terms with each other than Weiss Kreuz’s members were with one another.

Aya wondered, as he entered Farfarello’s room and surveyed the Irishman’s rumpled black bed, open wardrobe hanging heavy with almost entirely black clothes and attached metal accruements, and wall covered with carefully tended weapons, what it was that they had in common beyond an apparent love of causing death and mayhem. Was it their freakishness? Were they compelled to call Schwarz their family because of a mutual irrepressible sense of being abnormal? Aya didn’t consider Weiss Kreuz his family. He had his sister. Omi had his own family, however broken that might be. He hadn’t dwelt on pondering Yohji’s and Ken’s circumstances; they all had their own grievances, but it was enough that they managed to work together and communicated whenever necessary.

Who did the members of Schwarz have as their family? Aya searched his memory as he began vacuuming the carpet. He recalled Omi telling him once something about all the members of Schwarz coming from broken, terrible, traumatic circumstances. Something about Farfarello being brought up by nuns or something to do with religion. He wasn’t certain. He hadn’t really cared at the time. Know thy enemy and all that, but he didn’t like knowing too much about the history of his opponents; it made them too human for him to feel at ease killing them. He preferred to leave that all to Omi, who tended to feel for everyone he met, regardless of how ghastly their rap sheet.

Or was it Schuldig’s ability to push all their buttons that had brought Schwarz together? He knew their insecurities, knew everything about them. Certainly the other members of Schwarz couldn’t let Schuldig leave them and the German had to know that his team was as much of a threat to him as they were his friends. Or at least, that was what Aya assumed was the case.

He didn’t spend long in Berserker’s room. Despite the man’s codename, he seemed to be one of the neater members of Schwarz, possibly the neatest depending on Crawford’s room, which Aya had decided to leave until last given that the man himself was still in the apartment and due to depart sometime later. After smoothing down the cleanish bedsheets and doing a quick dust over of all the surfaces - no family photos, as Aya had suspected - Aya moved on down the corridor.

He skipped Schuldig’s room, decided upon leaving it to second to last. He figured it would be the worst kept.

Nagi Naoe’s room came next. It was covered in destroyed electronics. Even the bedsheets were singed and covered with what looked like metal dust and flakes. Aya changed the sheets and pretended not to notice how stained they were. However tidily the teenager appeared with his orderly school bag and immaculately pressed school uniform, he was apparently emotionally and - apart from the telekinesis - physically extremely normal. Uncertain what to do with all the electronics, Aya gathered them all into a pile on the boy’s desk before vacuuming the carpet, picking up odds and ends as he guided the hoover head about.

He was piling the boy’s laundry into the washing machine when he saw movement in the periphery of his vision and, looking towards the main room, he saw Crawford exiting the office. The man met his gaze, apparently having noticed him about the same time and they stared at each other briefly and then, with a small nod and smile, Crawford continued on route to the sitting area and disappeared out of sight. Aya heard the balcony door slide open and shut.

After setting the washing machine onto the linen cycle, Aya turned his attention to Mastermind’s room.

Upon entering the room, he blinked, then stared.  _This is a surprise._ He had expected it to be… garish, a horrendous mix of postmodern colours and hard edges. Instead, he was confronted with a spartan minimalism. Despite the man’s perchance for brightly coloured scarves, there was hardly any colour to speak of in the man’s personal environment. Indeed, it almost resembled a sterile hospital cell, and it would have been a white one save for a few brown and blue accents.

Aya entered the space. It didn’t look like it needed much cleaning work, though it did look lived in - the laundry hamper was almost full, the sheets were a little rumpled and they smelt of sweat but weren’t stained at all. There were a few garments tossed across the bed, but they all were clean. Unlike with Farfarello’s and Nagi’s rooms, Aya did a little poking around here and was rewarded when, upon looking in the fourth drawer of one of the bedside tables, he found a few bottles of tablets, and a few zip locked bags of tablets and dried substances. He looked through the bottles, noting that they were all depressants of sorts: benzos, barbiturates, opioids, antipsychotics… Aya wondered if the manic personality that he saw of Schuldig was the drugged version or not. Hopefully it was the latter. He’d hate to think of how the man was naturally if he had as of yet only met a suppressed version of him.

He put the bottles back carefully and set about cleaning the room. Then he headed across the main room to the other corridor and Crawford’s room.

Oracle’s room was different again. It was larger than Aya had anticipated, having thought it might be a similar size to the other Schwarz members’ bedrooms. This room was not only large, but large enough to be divided visually into two spaces: a sleeping area and a work area. The first was filled with a large bed with patterned grey and blue bedsheets. The other side of the room held a large desk and a number of tall bookshelves filled with nonfiction, magazines, and many, many folders and what looked like journals. Aya was tempted to reach for one of the journals, but was wary of Crawford walking past and seeing him snooping.

He started vacuuming and was in the middle of the task, right beside Oracle’s bed, when he heard the front door open. Curious to find out whether Crawford had left or whether one of the other Schwarz members had returned, he turned off the vacuum. Upon straightening, he looked at the door and stiffened when he saw Crawford enter and - with a cautionary look at him - raise a finger to his lips in a shushing motion. He was holding his gun in his other hand, the silencer on yet again.

Aya frowned. Had the apartment been broken into? And then, moments, later, he heard a voice coming from the main room of the place that made him tense and his whole body feel suddenly numb.

Ken’s voice. Talking to someone.

_Oh, God. Oh, God! Who’s with him? What are they doing here?_

Upon listening further, he suddenly realised that he didn’t recognise the voice of the person Ken was talking to, and that the other voice appeared to be telling Ken where to place a table.

“Please set it down next to the sofa bed here. My employer will move it back after his guest leaves.”

“Crashing on the sofa, huh?” Ken said bracingly, his voice so bright and cheery, Aya felt his teeth grit at the false tone. He wondered who had accompanied Siberian into Schwarz’s den. Probably Yohji, aka Balinese. “The renter must have a guest staying over.”

A polite clearing of a throat. “Indeed."

Aya heard footsteps walking around the main room, approaching the corridor where he and Crawford were both half hidden behind an ajar door. He looked around for a weapon, but there was nothing except for shelves of books, an expensive looking table lamp, and stationery.

But this was still Balinese.  _Your friend. Who’s worried about you. That’s no reason to attack him. He’s only here because you faked your own death._

_You faked your death because Takatori has Aya-chan. You need to support Schwarz. You don’t have a choice._

But in a battle against the remaining members of Weiss Kreuz, Aya suddenly realised that he wouldn’t be able to fight them. He couldn’t in any form of conscience do it. He might as well abandon Aya-chan to Takatori’s family’s sadistic whims as kill his former team mates. He had already gone too far in killing Reiichi.

“Mind if I have a quick look around? I’ve always wanted to see…”

Crawford gun rose as the footsteps neared and, almost automatically, Aya quickly moved over to stand in front of the barrel. He leaned against the wall next to the open door, a long hand clasping around Crawford’s gun hand. Crawford’s eyes narrowed at him, a visible tightening of the man’s lips indicated his displeasure.

His hand felt smooth and warm, softer than Aya had expected. Aya was used to seeing callused hands, to torn nails, dry skin, and oil grease highlighting the wrinkles over knuckles. Not… these effeminate limbs. He blinked at the hand in surprise, then, looking back up at Crawford’s glare, shook his head sharply.

_You’ll have to shoot me first, Crawford._

And then, to his relief, the strange voice said, sharply, “Sir, I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you go no further. A tour wouldn’t be in my employer’s interests. Perhaps if you contacted the building manager, they might arrange to show you one of the unoccupied suites.”

Aya exhaled quietly and lowered his gaze to stare absently at a point in Crawford’s bedroom carpet. He didn’t like looking at Crawford. He didn’t like standing this close to the other man. He could smell him from here; he smelt surprisingly good, like musk and fresh perspiration. He could see the fine, expensive thread of his silk suit and the perfect knot in his tie in the corner of his vision and the thought of taking that tie in hand, that tie which was so neatly noosed about that flawless neck, was so, so distracting.

Ken laughed, dragging Aya’s thoughts back to the immediate problem. Siberian’s voice was so, so close. Aya estimated his former colleague and friend was standing no further than three metres away from where he was standing with Crawford’s bloody gun barrel digging into his thumb, centimetres from his chest. “That sounds awesome,” Ken said. “Where’s the main office? Or a number; that’ll do.”

“It’s downstairs. I’ll be happy to show you. Let me sign that delivery slip on the way.”

The footsteps dwindled. Then the front door opened and shut. And then all was silent.

Aya looked back at Crawford and swallowed, unprepared yet again for the proximity of the other man. This time, he felt his body - no longer afraid of being ambushed by Siberian - respond with a surge of heat.

Crawford must have noticed the change in expression… or seen something. Who knew? Either way, he blinked, his gaze flicking briefly towards Aya’s lips, and the wary look in his eyes was abruptly replaced by a hooded expression. Interpreting this as permission, Aya stepped forward and casually wrapped the other’s hand on the gun with his own hands, a smile on his lips. He replaced the safety latch and eased the gun free, tossing it onto the bed before leaning and grabbing that pesky little tie to pull the other man towards him.

Crawford’s lips were soft and pleasant, his breath warm and moist gusting against Aya’s mouth. Rewarded by Crawford gently responding to the kiss, Aya deepened it, sliding his free hand down to grasp the man by the front of his trousers and tug his groin against his. Oracle’s erection was faint, but growing. Aya rubbed himself against it and heard himself groan.

“So wanton,” Oracle commented, leaning back slightly when their kiss broke. They were both panting. Aya moreso. For a reserved freak, Crawford was much more experienced at kissing than he had anticipated, far more than him certainly. When Crawford grasped him by the hips and began guiding him back towards the bed, Aya let him, and sat when pushed down onto the soft coverlet. Crawford kissed him again, then pushed him again so that Aya was lying flat, his legs still hanging over the side of the bed. His apron was pushed up and Aya gasped when Oracle handled him through his trousers, one hand firmly jerked his belt open and slid it free from Aya’s hips. Aya lifted his hips to help the man pull the garment and his underwear down. He choked when hot warmth engulfed his erection and a skilled mouth was deep throating him, messy and wet and hot and incredible.

It was over far too soon. He shuddered and came into Crawford’s mouth. Gasping, he stared up at the ceiling.

“Oh. My. God,” he breathed. “That was amazing.”

Crawford chuckled and, rising, the man leaned over him and kissed him lightly. Before the man could move away, Aya seized him again by the tie.

“Don’t go,” he said. “I’m not finished with you.”

Crawford just smirked at him. “For now you have. I’m about to get another call,” he replied smoothly. And just as he had foretold, his phone began ringing. He leaned back, jerking his tie free of Aya’s grip, and turned away to stalk out of the room, answering the phone as he went.

“Hello? Of course it is. This better be important.” Then the door to the office across the passageway shut and Aya couldn’t hear anything else. He stared back up at the ceiling of the bedroom. His breathing was still loud in his ears. He waited there for a few minutes and then, when he heard the door in the main room open again, he sat up and hurriedly straightened his appearance. He resumed vacuuming and apparently not a moment too soon as Schuldig suddenly appeared in the doorway. When Aya glanced at him, the man grinned, the expression wolfish and knowing. The German leaned easily against the door jamb, his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets.

Aya turned his focus back to the vacuum and he finished cleaning the carpet. When he finished, he looked back at Schuldig. The man was still watching him closely, still grinning widely.

“You’re back early,” Aya said.

The German scratched his abdomen through his shirt and blinked slowly at him, still grinning. “Hallo to you too,” he said. “You look cute in that apron with those clips in your hair.”

Aya scowled. “Cut it out. I told you I’m not interested.”

Schuldig chuckled. “I’m going to punish that lying little mouth of yours. Fucking Bradley’s mouth is glorious, isn’t it? Listening to your cute little moans, watching you writhing through his eyes, well that was quite a show too.” He winked and, straightening, turned and sauntered across the corridor to the office. He opened the door without knocking and left it open as he went in because Aya heard him say loudly, “I’m back, Cherub. You might have warned me you were going to going to blow him. I was in the lobby and almost came in my pants in public.”

Crawford snorted. “That’s your fault for prying. You’re back early.”

“The pussycat said the same thing,” Schuldig chuckled. “I came back because I sensed that there were Kitties spraying in the area.”

“Humph. What about Farfarello?”

“Covering for me until I get back,” the German said. “I see you’ve been assessing our pet’s housetraining.”

A pause. “…He’s been cleaning, yes.”

“Yes, you’ve both been vacuuming,” Schuldig said with a chuckle.

“Now you’re being facetious.”

Another throaty chuckle.

Aya decided to speak up. He strode over to the doorway of the office, duster in hand. “Hey, I can hear you,” he snapped. Both Oracle and Mastermind looked at him, the former’s face grave, the latter’s grinning widely. “If you’re going to make fun of me in front of me for chipping in with your chores, you can forget it.”

Crawford smirked and raised a hand to adjust his spectacles. He glanced sidelong at Schuldig who was still grinning all over his face. “You’ve been told,” he said.

“One word, you fluffy little black Kitty,” Schuldig replied smugly, “Miss Aya.”

Aya’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t hold my sister against me.” He glanced at Crawford, but there was no expression on the other man’s face. “I have a deal with your employer.”

“And I don’t always do what I’m told,” Schuldig said smoothly. He tilted his head, soft shaggy orange hair flopping against the shoulders of his jacket, eyes dancing. “Or hadn’t you gathered that yet,  _Katzerl_?”

They stared at each other for a few moments. Aya was the first to look away, to look back at Crawford, and then lower his eyes to the ground. He didn’t know what to think.  _This guy is crazy. He’s playing me constantly. It’s just a game to him. And probably I’m a game to Crawford too._  The pair were too close, their relationship too solid for him to even make a dent in it. His only leverage was through his deal with Takatori and - given Schuldig’s volatility - that only seemed to lightly affect Crawford’s decisions. He exhaled.  _I can’t bear to think of this anymore._

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said quietly, and he turned and left the office. Neither Schuldig nor Crawford said anything, and - not wanting to be pursued or to hear anything further from them - Aya shut the door behind him.

When he came out of the shower later, Schuldig was in the kitchen cooking on the stove. The room smelled of curry. He ignored Aya. The office door was open and Aya could hear Crawford talking in a soft voice, assumedly on his phone again. 

Aya grabbed a change of clothes and returned to the bathroom to get dressed. When he came out, in sweatpants and a T-shirt, he found the table set for three. When he approached the table and his usual seat, Schuldig, who was dolling out rice into bowls, looked at him.

“Sit down,” he said quietly.

“You’re… not returning to the job?” Hadn’t Crawford said Farfarello would return for lunch here?

“No. Farfy and I will swap later, given I’m already here,” Schuldig said, coming over to the table. He set down the rice; then went back to the stove and picked up the curry pot to ladle the brown stew of meat and vegetables out into a large share bowl. It smelled delicious and Aya felt his stomach contract hungrily.

 _I didn’t think Schuldig could cook. Is curry even eaten in Germany?_  He was a bit surprised. Although, curry was cooked universally now, wasn’t it?

“Not Japanese-style curry,” Schuldig said, “but Crawford prefers it cooked this way and I figured you would too.”

“I didn’t realise there was a difference.”

The German chuckled and pointed to Aya’s usual seat. “I look forward to remedying that one day soon. Sit. I’ll call Brad.” So saying, he turned and strode out of the kitchen and down the corridor to the office. As he took his seat, Aya heard him chatting quietly to Crawford for a few moments. He didn’t wait for long. Shortly afterwards, the tall orange-haired guy reappeared, the American-born Japanese leader of Schwarz at his side.

“Fujimiya- _san_ ,” Crawford said as he took his seat, “Thank you for waiting for us.”

“N-No. Thank you for cooking, Schuldig- _san_ ,” Aya replied awkwardly, bowing his head slightly. The other two men took their seats and Crawford - with reaching for the curry’s serving spoon and starting to serve himself with the dish - indicated that they also could proceed to eat.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. It was good; much better than Aya had expected given Schuldig’s appearance as someone whose interests lay far from culinary domesticity. He found himself shooting looks at Schuldig, who was focussing on eating and not looking at him. And then, when Schuldig - who surely had been aware of his observation from the start - finally met his gaze, Aya’s tongue slipped away with something entirely unintended:

“Schuldig- _san_. If you’re willing to kill my sister and risk your contract with Takatori, would you also be willing to consider saving her from him?”

Both Schuldig and Crawford stopped eating and stared at him. Schuldig’s expression was unreadable. Crawford’s startled.

Crawford reacted first. He snorted, then chuckled, turning his head away, a long hand rising to cover his mouth.

Schuldig glanced at Crawford, a wide grin spreading across his thin face. “Ai, ai,  _Katzerl_ ,” he remarked, looking back to Aya. “You’re pretty interesting right now. We haven’t had such an entertaining guest for quite a while.”

“So that’s a yes,” Aya concluded. He leaned forward over the table, eyes fixed intently on the orange haired man. “So what do you want from me?”

Schuldig’s grin was now maliciously wide. A real “shit-eating” grin. His pupils had dilated. He looked gleefully back at Crawford.  “You owe me, Bradley,” he purred.

“Fuck off.” Crawford was still smirking though, even as he looked back down at his rice bowl and thus disengaged from further discussion of the subject. Aya looked back at Schuldig, who was gazing intently back at him now, creepy grin still insitu, though that wasn’t anything surprising considering it was him.

 _Did they wager on whether I would offer to deal with him?_ Aya scowled. “What will it be, Schuldig- _san_?” he persisted.

“To ensure Aya- _chan’s_  safe return to you?” Schuldig echoed. He looked thoughtful for a few moments. Then, abruptly, he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head “How about yourself?” He chuckled at Aya’s black look. “So quiet now? But tell me honestly: what else do you have to offer me that I could possibly desire,  _Pussy_? I know everything that you know, I see everything that you see, I hear and smell and touch everything that you do… The only thing of yours that I don’t possess is your free will.” He snorted, “though of course, I could force you to obey me, but…” he pursed his lips, “…that’s less fun.”

 _Free will, huh_. So this was all that Schuldig didn’t have freely from him? And he  _wanted_  that from him? As if he were only a toy for his own personal entertainment.  _But even so, why not give him what he wants? My life is already devoted to Aya; this deal wouldn’t compromise that value. In a sick sense, it’s almost flattery that he wants me that much. But even so… he’s almost as bad as Takatori Reiji._

Schuldig snorted softly, his head tilting slightly. “Oi, oi, you’re the only one around here who thinks that,  _Katzerl_ ,” he murmured.

Aya swallowed. “I accept.”

Crawford abruptly pushed back his chair, rose, and quietly left the room, apparently finished with his lunch. Schuldig glanced after his team leader; then back at Aya. His grin had faded to a small smirk.

“You better get some more sleep,” he said. “You’re going to be short of it very soon.” He chuckled at Aya’s confused frown. “Implied message intended,” he added, before returning his attention back down to his meal.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

Schuldig left the apartment shortly afterwards, leaving Aya to clear the table and wash up as per his first order. He had almost finished doing so when Crawford emerged, dressed in a coat and navy blue scarf. Aya recalled that the man had mentioned needing to venture out earlier that morning.

Oracle met his gaze and smirked. “Remember what I requested of you?” he asked.

“Don’t leave the apartment today,” Aya replied flatly.

“Correct. Farfarello should be back within the hour. I’ll see you later.” Then, with a nod, the older man left the apartment.

Once again, Aya found himself effectively left to his own devices in the apartment. He resumed cleaning Crawford’s room and then headed to the office to both clean it and - primarily - to have a little poke around the space. He figured he would hear the door open for Farfarello.

Which was, of course, a mistake. Because the next thing he knew, he turned around from examining the remains of Keiichi’s laptop and Berserker was in the room with him, wearing black running leggings and a black T-shirt, standing at one of the cupboards, which was open, revealing a long case of needle like knives. The man wasn’t looking at him, but at a long knife in his hands, having apparently just picked it up.

“Ah.” Aya fell silent, wishing he hadn’t said anything as Farfarello then looked sidelong at him with his one sharp eye. Aya pursed his lips and lifted his chin a little defiantly. He didn’t have an excuse. He didn’t know how long Farfarello had been standing there and to attempt to lie to the Irishman could worsen the situation. So he just returned the other man’s silent regard. And grimaced when Farfarello raised the knife to his lips and absently licked the end of the blade, his tongue immediately seeping bright red from the thin cut.

“Looking for something?” Berserker asked quietly.

“Only looking,” Aya replied, eyeing the knife blade. He glanced at the door, then back at the blade. “And you? You don’t have enough weapons in your room?”

Farfarello tutted softly. “I don’t keep all of them there.” He suddenly smiled and flicked the knife around to point it at Aya, in a mimic of an en-guard position for fencing. “Fancy a little Western martial arts?”

 _No._  “Sure.”

A snicker and then Farfarello had grabbed two sabres from inside the cupboard and thrown one at him. He grabbed it. “I’ve never used this kind of sword before,” he pointed out.

The Irishman smirked. “Then you’ll be doing something new today.” He turned and headed to the gym.

“Can I ask you a question,” Aya asked as he followed him.

“Sure.” Inside the gym, Farfarello surprised him by heading over to one of the wall cupboards and taking out a proper fencing top, breeches, and helmet. He pointed out one of the remaining three uniforms to Aya. “Bradley’s should fit you,” he said. “There are long socks in the drawer above the sneakers.”

Aya put down the sabre and, following Farfarello’s example, began changing into the breeches, protective cup cup and long sleeved white jacket. “What is Schwarz’s current assignment?” he asked.

“I can’t answer that.” Farfarello pulled the breeches up over his gym leggings.

“It’s related to hospitals, isn’t it?”

The Irishman ignored him as he crouched down and secured his shoes. Aya hurriedly followed suit, feeling a little awkward when he had to physically strip a little to wear the gear appropriately. Farfarello watched him with attentive, but disinterested eyes from where the man was sitting on his heels beside him, but given that he had had sexual contact with now half of Schwarz, he felt a little uncomfortable with more than that seeing him in his underwear.

“What does Takatori want?” he asked, to break the silence more than anything. He certainly didn’t expect a response.

So he was a little surprised when Farfarello commented, quietly, “Aren’t you in the best position to answer that question?”

“I haven’t interacted with him since I was a child,” Aya pointed out.  _Not since before_.

“Some people’s motivations don’t change,” the Irishman said. He gazed steadily at him out of his single bright gold eye, watched him pull on a pair of the long socks now.

 _Is he also referring to me?_  Aya wondered. He tied his gym shoes and straightened. Farfarello did suit and turned away to walk to the other end of the clear area of the gym. He turned around and put on his fencing mask. Upon looking at him, Aya was struck by how different he looked in the uniform. And how much more noticeable was his broader Western build in the white.

“Don’t worry,” Farfarello said. Evidently something in Aya’s expression had conveyed a degree of hesitance to him.

“I’m not.”

A snort. “So hurry up.”

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

They fenced for over an hour. Farfarello was, unsurprisingly, highly skilled at fencing. But surprisingly, he was also a good teacher. Aya quickly saw that fencing helped with Farfarello’s grace, precision and good form on the battlefield. For a man with one eye, he certainly didn’t seem to miss it.

Upon finishing up, Farfarello took his sabre and disappeared into the office, leaving Aya to take off his jacket and change back into his slippers. He went, shirtless, to the bathroom and had a shower before changing back into his clothes from earlier. Farfarello didn’t reappear from the gym and office side of the apartment, leaving Aya to assume that the man was either exercising or doing something in the office.

Uncertain what to do, Aya settled for making himself a cup of tea. He took it out to the balcony and sat down. The sunlight was a little thin today as it was overcast. In the reflection of the apartment’s tinted windows, he could see himself. He didn’t initially recognise himself because of his long loose black hair. He also thought that he looked thinner about the face. Ms. Momoe would be trying to slip him cookies and cake if she saw him like this. He sighed and looked away from the glass, towards the view of the apartment buildings opposite. He wondered vaguely if this qualified as ‘ _leaving the apartment_ ’, just sitting outside on the balcony like this. Surely not. But he would definitely be more visible like this.

He wasn’t sure that he cared.

Normally, at this time of day, he would be glancing at the clock and counting the minutes down towards the end of school rush when the shop would be inundated with flirtatious school girls. He always felt awkward at this time of day, which wasn’t helped - he was sure - by the fact that he  _was_  awkward about women. All of the other Weiss members fared easier than him - they had better social skills, especially Yohji. Indeed, Aya had always enjoyed watching Balinese’s casual ease with exchanging flirtations. The man had it down to an art form, well honed for seduction in the clubs that he would visit on most of his free nights.

Aya stared down at his cup of green tea, at the slight sediment at the bottom. When was it that he had fallen for Yohji? The guy was such a man whore. He treated women as if they were so easily disposable. He frequently got drunk, flaunted his body, was late for appointments and for attending to the store. But when it was mission related, when it was a life and death situation, when someone’s life was at stake, when his team needed him, he was solid.

 _Unlike me. I’ve abandoned them. Let them think I am dead. I was their leader and I’ve just left them. Just like that._  Aya sipped at the hot fluid in his cup. He shouldn’t be thinking such depressing thoughts, but he couldn’t help it.

 _And I killed Bishop_. Even if he did eventually reunite with his team and/or return into the service of Persia, he would have to live knowing that he broke his own values. Was Bishop’s and the guy’s partner worth Aya’s life? Were they really?

 _I’ve really fucked up. And now I’ve willingly become a puppet to Schwarz’s insane telepath._ Aya still couldn’t believe the events that had already transpired that day. He had murdered Bishop in possibly his sloppiest mission work in years, Crawford had threatened to shoot him, Crawford had also given him a blow job, and he had agreed to do Schuldig’s bidding for an indefinite period. All in all, Farfarello - the muscle of Schwarz - the one that used to make him shudder the most given the man’s mutilated appearance and preference for shocking others, was the one who seemed the friendliest today. And perhaps Nagi, but Aya  rarely saw the child except at meals.

Speaking of which… he noticed movement beyond the tinted glass and - focussing - saw Nagi in the kitchen. The boy was in his school uniform and sitting at the kitchen table, his school bag beside his seat. He was eating a banana, a glass of water, an open book and an exercise book beside him.

Suddenly Farfarello appeared from the direction of his room. He was wearing shorts and a black tank now. Probably he had had a shower too. Aya watched the blue haired man begin chatting to Nagi. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but from Nagi’s smile and chatty responses, he could tell that the pair had a good relationship. He watched Farfarello pull out the chair beside Nagi and peer down at the textbook. He said something and Nagi laughed. Actually laughed.

Aya never made anyone laugh like that in Weiss. But he made up for what he lacked in charisma with being reliable and decisive. He had been the one to give Weiss direction, although admittedly Omi had been taking over more of the mission planning details in past months. However, he had remained the one in charge on the ground. He also had killed the most people.

He blinked when he noticed Nagi was looking at him. Farfarello followed his gaze and then, apparently disinterested, looked back down at the textbook. Nagi dropped his gaze too after a moment. Aya looked away awkwardly. Omi never asked for help with his studies and Aya would have offered, but Omi was a thorough prodigy. Sometimes the girls who visited the flower shop discussed their homework with them, but rarely with him. The last time he had sat down and physically helped anyone with their schoolwork was with Aya.

He continued sipping at his tea. It was nice out here on the balcony. There was enough shade to escape direct sun and a little shelter from the wind were it to become windy. He could understand why Crawford and Schuldig took their discussions out here and why Schuldig had hung out here early this morning, although that might have been in order to smoke.

_“Miss me, Katzerl?”_

The familiar voice seemed so real that Aya started, almost spilling his tea. He looked at the door through the glass, but the main room only contained Farfarello and Nagi who were still sitting and pouring over Nagi’s school work at the dining table.

_“I’ll be back soon, Kitten-chan. Now as coffee making isn’t your forte, why don’t you make me a cup of tea? I like black tea. The white canister in the pantry labelled Assam will do. Brew it in the white tea pot for no more than 3 minutes.”_

Aya swallowed.  _This was… weird._  He rose and, carrying his cup back inside, mechanically began making the requested pot of tea. He was just filling the pot with boiling water from the kettle when he heard the door open.

“I’m home, Cherubs,” Mastermind purred. Turning slightly, Aya watched him smirk at them and stalk into the room to approach the dining table. Leaning over Nagi’s shoulder, he scanned the open books.

“Welcome home,” Nagi murmured, looking up at Schuldig. Aya noticed the boy lean slightly towards the German, into the curtain of orange hair. It made him feel a little uncomfortable, seeing their closeness. A little sad for himself too; he missed Weiss. He turned back to face the tea pot and put the lid on it, noting the time. Three minutes he had said. He started setting out a small tray and a tea cup, absently listening to their chatter as he did so - it was English homework that Nagi was doing, thus his need for Farfarello’s assistance.

When the three minutes were up, he took the infuser out of the tea pot and set the pot down on the tray. He glanced at the fridge, then at Mastermind, but the other man wasn’t looking at him. Did he take milk? Sugar? Lemon? Cream?

_“Just milk. Bring it over to the table with a cup for Farfarello also.”_

Aya added a little of the milk in the fridge to a small milk jug and set that on the tray as well. Then he carried it over to the table and silently set it down on the chair at Nagi’s other side, assuming that Schuldig was going to sit there. Ignoring Farfarello’s and Nagi’s mystified looks, he turned away and went back to the kitchen to retrieve his own tea cup. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this whole do as Schuldig says thing. But this - making tea - that was okay.

He stared at his half finished cup of tea as he heard the tea being poured. The light clink of a spoon stirring within a cup.

_“Nice tea, Katzerl.”_

“Thank you, Fujimiya- _san_ ,” Farfarello said quietly.

He looked back at them. The Irishman was sitting cradling his tea cup in his scarred hands, gazing at him. Aya glanced at the bandages on his wrist, then back at his single eye. He nodded.

“You’re welcome.”

Across from Farfarello, Schuldig turned his head and smirked at Aya, but he didn’t say anything. Aya wondered if any of Schwarz beside Crawford knew yet about his deal with Schuldig.

He finished his cup of tea slowly. Indeed, so slowly that he finished  _after_  Schuldig and Farfarello had drained the tea pot and Schuldig, picking up the tray, brought it over to the sink. Much to Aya’s surprise, the German washed up. So Aya quietly moved into the role of helping him dry the delicate crockery. He found himself rather liking standing so close to the taller man. He could feel the warmth of his body radiating off him. And he could still smell, faintly, his piney cologne. He glanced at the man’s hands: so pale and blue-veined. Faintly freckled and at the wrist, dusted with orange hairs.

Afterwards, whilst they were still standing side by side at the cupboard in which the tea ware was stored, Schuldig touched his arm. Aya looked at him. The man smirked slightly at him, his gaze flicking across Aya’s face, then down and up quickly.

_“Go to my room, Beautiful.”_

_Beautiful?_  Aya felt a bit numb. Had anyone ever called him ‘beautiful’ before? Ever?  _Is this a new kind of manipulation?_ He glanced once more at the amused face of the taller man; then turned and made his way to Schuldig’s room. He looked around and, unwilling to sit on the bed without a direct invitation, sat down in the leather brown armchair near the wardrobe.

Schuldig wasn’t long behind him. The man entered, closed and locked the door; then took off his jacket and loosened his tie. He went over to the wardrobe and began carefully hanging everything away.

“You’re tidier than I had anticipated,” Aya said.

Schuldig glanced sidelong at him. “You don’t have to speak,” he stated. “I can always hear you.” He pointed absently at his head. Aya noticed how he pointed as if he was aiming a gun.

“Is that why you keep all those depressants in your bedside table?” There was no reason to hedge around the question or hide his curiosity, given Mastermind could read his mind anyway.

“Partly. Those are useful to keep around. For that kitten in the warehouse the other night, for example.” Schuldig smirked at Aya’s slight tensing. “For myself. For others.”

 _Schwarz too?_  “I can’t imagine Crawford taking anything that might affect his brain.” Aya watched the orange haired man slide his belt loose and turn to approach him, wrapping the supple black leather around his hand as he neared. “What are you doing?”

“Sometimes the body does things the brain doesn’t will it,” Schuldig said, and suddenly he was pushing Aya back into the armchair and descending to straddle him. It reminded Aya of when Schuldig had climbed into his Porsche and how he had yielded to him with barely a thought of protest. And just as then, he didn’t do anything to stop the other man’s direction. Just as Mastermind had said.

Schuldig was lean and sinewy, his body warm through his trousers and thin shirt.

_“Shirt off.”_

Aya complied, wincing and tensing slightly when, after discarding the garment, Schuldig pushed his arms behind his back and secured the belt around his wrists.

“Did you see my sister today?” Aya asked, when the man leaned back and reached up to push Aya’s hair out of his eyes with his fingertips. It still felt odd, seeing black hair instead of red as his fringe. His skin tingled where the German’s fingers touched him. He regarded Schuldig’s face attentively, noting that the ever present smirk had disappeared.  _What happens now?_

“Not today. But I know where she is,” Schuldig replied. He ran his fingers down the sides of Aya’s cheeks, across his jaw, stroked his lips. Aya shuddered when he touched the latter. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him there. Schuldig paused, stared at him closely for a few moments, and then continued stroking his body, heading down his neck, across his shoulders, and downwards to his chest. His touch wasn’t unpleasant - far from it, it was distractingly reassuring, and the expression on the other man’s face was still so… thoughtful. His touch had felt so different the other day, in the bathroom. Was that a coincidence? Or had he been manipulated? He glanced back up, and realised then that Mastermind was smiling at him.

_Stupid. I’m always being manipulated by this guy._

“Yet here you are,  _Katzerl,_ ” the man purred. He leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips. Aya flinched, his arms flexing to push him away, but after a few moments, he felt himself settle as he got used to it, and even responded a little.

Why was Schuldig kissing him? If all he wanted was sex, then why this degree of intimacy? But he  _had_  said he wanted Aya’s free will. Was this part of it? To take advantage of his isolation? But Aya couldn’t find it in himself to be angry or afraid. It was not unpleasant, sitting here right now, with Schuldig holding him, kissing him, with nothing but the other man’s warmth against him and the silence in the room.

A soft chuckle. “It’s hardly silent for me,  _Katzerl_.”

“If you’re trying to reassure me, you could try dispensing with the nickname,” Aya snipped. “And releasing me.” His arms hurt from pulling against the leather binding them.

“Liar.” And then Schuldig kissed him again and Aya closed his eyes and tried to forget about thinking, about doing anything except gaining a little enjoyment out of this moment.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

“Your sister is safe for now,” Schuldig said quietly, when they were lying in bed later, on their backs side by side. It felt later, but Aya knew that it couldn’t yet be 17:30, because that was when Schwarz - himself excluded - was supposed to meet for a debrief for their mission that night.

He turned his head to look at the other man. Naked, with only that shock of orange hair to offend the senses, the man looked so much less intimidating. Schuldig was lying with his arms behind his head, staring up at the smooth ceiling.

“Will it be easy to rescue her?” Aya asked.

“To retrieve her, yes. To hold onto her, no.” Schuldig pursed his lips. “Her treating facility has government approval and protection.”

_So Persia can do nothing officially._

“As her relative, I can supersede the right of care, can’t I?” But Aya realised his error as soon as it left his mouth. He was dead. By Takatori’s design? Or coincidence?

A soft snort. “He played you well,  _Katzerl_.”

“What about Weiss? Persia’s other groups?”  _I just killed Bishop, one of their most brilliant surveillance guys. Then… Omi?_

Schuldig chuckled and rolled onto his side to face him. “We have a deal,  _Katzerl_. Keep delivering, and I’ll honour my end.” He placed a broad, long hand on Aya’s chest, slid it down to his abdomen; then further down to massage his penis back into hardness. Aya bit his lower lip to hold back a moan. Looking up at Schuldig, he really was similar to Yohji. Only… gay. And more complicated. And less predictable. And less trustworthy. And truly sadistic at times, despite how kindly he was treating him now.

“Ha. And when you think about it  _really_  carefully,  _Pussy Cat_ ,” Schuldig purred as he leaned down to bite at Aya’s right nipple, “I’m not like that Kudou boy at all.” Aya hissed, tears coming to his eyes, and shuddered when - upon being released, he felt the German blow cool air across the abused side. He reached out for the other man; then faltered when Schuldig shook his head. “Not now. You're not ready to initiate playtime with me yet.” He rolled Aya’s balls between his fingers and Aya slumped back, groaning.

There came a knock on the door. “Schu?” It was Farfarello’s voice. “Crawford’s back. It’s meeting time.”

Schuldig snorted. “We’ll continue this later,” he murmured, looking down at Aya. “Help yourself to anything in the drawer if you can’t sleep and get bored being stuck in here.” Then, winking, he withdrew from the bed. Aya watched him dress, absently noting that the guy wasn’t erect at all. Maybe he was just tired. He watched the pale, sinewy body disappear behind the layers of a sleek navy blue suit, a baby pink and bright yellow silk scarf tied neatly around his neck, and then he turned back to the bed. He took a bottle of tablets out of the bedside table and pocketed them before Aya could see the label. Glancing at Aya, he reached down and ruffled his hair, then turned and left the room.

Aya sighed heavily and raised his arms up to place them above his head. It was surprisingly quiet in the room. He couldn’t hear anything from the main room. It wasn’t the same when he was in the bathroom - he could still hear murmurs, however muffled - from the main room. Perhaps this room was soundproofed. It wouldn’t surprise him. Did soundproofing have any effect on Schuldig’s telepathy?

_Only he could say. And even if he did say, who can tell if he is telling the truth?_

He grimaced and sat up, bent over himself and ran a hand through his hair. What  _did_  they want with Aya? What was so precious about her? Or… if she was merely a means to get at  _him_ , what was it that Takatori wanted so desperately from  _him_? Beyond, that is to say, eliminating his legal existence, and forcing him into his service.

_Keep your enemies closer… but this is ridiculous. Easier to kill me and be done with all of this._

Just  _what_  did Schuldig see in him? There were surely far more interesting people out there for the sadist to twist to his service. Making someone like him bend over for him… how was it enjoyable? He had lost so much. He was so close to breaking, so  _angry_  all of the time,  _most_  of the time, that even Manx seemed to recommend seeing a psychiatrist more to him than to anyone else. Well, except perhaps for Omi, but Manx usually spoke to Omi privately, probably because of his own terse history with the boy.

Aya sat up and looked down at the medication drawer. What  _had_  Schuldig taken with him? He leaned over and slid the drawer open. Normally he didn’t take medications. Ken did sometimes, usually when he had a sporting injury that needed more than rest, ice, compression and elevation to ease it. Omi was reluctant to take anything. Yohji, however, probably personally knew everything in this drawer.

He searched through the bottles for a familiar name. Eventually, he found some Valium. Not specifically designed as a sleeping aid, but it might take the edge off his tension. He swallowed it dry, turned off the lamp light, and then lay back on the sheets.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

When he awoke, his face was lying in a puddle of drool on the pillow case. He rose, turned on the lamp, and slipped from the bed to fish his clothing from the floor. Upon putting it on, he padded from the room. The apartment was completely dark, save for the light that streamed in from the city night lights through the windows. As per the oven clock, it was just after ten o’clock.

He went over to his bag of clothes by the sofa and changed into a pair of pyjamas. Then he found a banana to eat in the kitchen. Peeling it, he sat down at the television and turned it to a news channel.

His half thought that there might be some report as to what was going on with Schwarz currently was answered more quickly than he had expected as after a couple of reports, the television showed a reporter standing in what looked like afternoon sunlight, before a tall, new-looking, sleek white building.

_“The Minister for Health today visited a new government funded clinic set up for the support and rehabilitation of children with neurological conditions. New and gentle methods of treatment that have the potential to slow the progression of and even reverse certain neurological diseases are being trialled here. If successful, these may significantly reduce the debilitating effects and burden of neurological conditions for individuals and their families.”_

It could have been a coincidence, of course, but Aya kept watching, and when he saw Masafumi Takatori being filmed as he exited a black car and entered the clinic, flanked by bodyguards, he had no doubt. He kept a look out for anyone else that he knew, but the snippet only really focussed on the reporter, Takatori’s youngest son, and a clinic representative who did most of the talking. There was incidental video time given to the interior of the clinic, but no close ups of any patients or to the other clinic staff.

The report ended and Aya finished the banana and, finding the plastic bag liner gone from within the metal bin, put it on the counter top. Then he went to find the katana that Crawford had let him use the previous evening. He took it to the gym and resumed practicing with it. He couldn’t let himself do the sloppy kind of work that he had done yesterday. Not again.

_If I’m going to be useful, I need to keep moving forward. I need to be ready to take any opportunity._

Which begged the question.  _Should_  he leave the apartment? He pondered the thought as he continued practicing. Arguably, the  _day_  had already ended. And it was less than an hour now until midnight and tomorrow. He decided to give it another half an hour.

When that was up, he was sweating lightly, but generally pleased with his progress with the weapon. He put it away and then went back into the main room. It was now 23:43. He looked at the banana skin still lying on the counter surface. He picked it up and hunted awhile for the bin liners, without luck.

He looked at the main door. There had to be a disposal chute somewhere in the corridor outside. Really, this wasn’t technically  _leaving_  the apartment. So he picked up the skin and, wedging the door open slightly with a television magazine, he left the apartment and headed down the passageway.

There weren’t many apartments, he noticed. Four only. However, there  _were_  cameras. He kept his head down and headed down the corridor. The end of the passageway only held a fire escape, however, so he turned around and headed the other way.

_It would be relatively easy to leave this place right now… To go find that clinic and find Aya._

He found a door labelled GARBAGE and, entering, placed the banana skin into the chute. Then he turned around and headed back to the apartment, picking up the magazine as he did so. The door clicked shut, the automatic lock falling back into place.

He placed the magazine back onto the television cabinet; then headed to the bathroom to wash and ready himself for bed. Upon returning to the main room, he stilled.

Omi and Yohji were sitting at the dining table. Omi was wearing his mission gear; Yohji, a security outfit. Upon seeing him, Yohji jumped up.

“ _Jesus_!” The guy raised his fists, his face twisted, then with an incomprehensible cry, he turned and stalked away across the room towards the windows overlooking the balcony.

Aya glanced quickly at the front door, then back at Omi, who was staring warily at him, then over at Yohji, who was glaring out of the glass, his hands on his hips.

“Where’s Ken?” he asked.

“Outside, though he’ll be little use against them,” Omi replied. His voice was trembling slightly. Aya realised, with a jolt, that the boy was crying. “Aya, what the hell were you thinking?”

“No, what the  _fuck_  were you thinking, you  _fucking idiot!_ ” Yohji exploded. The guy had spun around. “I fucking  _cried_ for you, you bastard. They had a funeral!”

“I didn’t realise that they were planning to pretend to kill me until I had already agreed to work for Takatori,” Aya replied bluntly.

“You did  _what_?” Yohji yelped. At the table, Omi was staring at him as if he had suddenly grown three heads, his big eyes impossibly huger.

“In exchange for Aya,” Aya stated.

_“Enjoying a reunion from beyond the grave, Fujimiya?”_

He froze.  _Oh… fuck!_

Schuldig’s voice continued quietly.  _“You should have said you were lonely; I would have found you company. However, hanging out with your litter mates was against our rules.”_

Omi had been saying something also, something along the lines of why hadn’t he come to them for help, that they were already working on emancipating Aya. But the boy had trailed off on seeing his expression. “A-Aya? What’s wrong?”

Aya focussed back on the boy and Yohji who, he noticed, was also eyeing him in cautious concern. “You’ve no time,” he directed. “Schwarz is in the building and you need to move.”

He was surprised by how quickly the pair moved. Within seconds they were at the door, their expressions still worried, but grim. “What about you?” Omi asked, lingering at the threshold. The boy’s hands flexed. Aya saw the glint of his darts between his fingers.

_He’s no match for Schwarz. Not if they’re serious._

_“How absolutely correct, Ran. And if you try to leave with them, I will personally ensure that Farfarello skins one of them alive in front of you.”_

The use of his real name sounded menacing. Aya shuddered, shaking his head. Had Schuldig’s voice always been so loud in his mind? “I… can’t,” he said. “You need to go  _now_.”

The door clicked shut and, glancing up, he sighed in relief when he saw that he was alone. He sank against the wall and slid down to his knees. Raising his arms, he cradled his head.

_Oh, dear God, what have I done?_

All this work. All this subterfuge. And he had let it all slip away from him by leaving the apartment to find the garbage chute.

He thought back to how awkwardly welcoming Schwarz had been to him since that awful night when he had been forced to talk to Takatori. He had undone everything. Possibly, he had even achieved Crawford’s hit list and wouldn’t see morning. Certainly, if he were in charge of Schwarz, he would have killed agent Abyssinian. He was too volatile. Too personally involved in the assignment. He had just exposed Schwarz’s hideout.

At the last thought, he shuddered. He couldn’t even imagine how pissed Schwarz would be with him for that.

He heard the door unlock and raised his head to observe first Schuldig, then Crawford, then Nagi and - finally - Farfarello, enter the apartment. They eyed him, their expressions abruptly different from earlier. There was a coldness now about them, an amused cruelty that reminded Aya starkly of his former relationship and dread of this team when he had worked with Weiss.

Oracle was holding a syringe in his hand that he seemed to have drawn up on his return. Its contents were colourless. Gun drawn in his other hand, he stalked over to Aya. Behind him, the other members of Schwarz fanned out swiftly: Nagi and Schuldig towards the office, Farfarello to the bedrooms.

“What’s in that?” Aya questioned, when Oracle bent down beside him. He leaned his head back, swallowing painfully when the leader of Schwarz dug the barrel of his gun against his throat.

  
“You’ve relinquished the right to know,” Oracle replied, uncapping the needle with his teeth. Aya flinched when he felt the sharp dig into his arm, straight into a vein. He hissed as he felt the liquid sting as it was injected. Then the syringe was withdrawn and tossed aside. Oracle pressed his thumb over the site.

Aya looked at him. At the grim, unsmiling face, and the slight circles under his eyes. He could feel a fog slowly creeping across him, making his body and mind feel heavy. It didn't feel like heroin or morphine. An anaesthetic? Were they planning to take him with them?

“I was just looking for the garbage chute,” he said drowsily. It was uncomfortable to talk with the cold silencer pressed against his Adam’s Apple.

“How inconvenient for you, then, that I don’t do second chances,” Oracle clipped. “You’ve compromised my team and believe me, it  _won’t_  happen again.”

Aya didn’t reply, but he understood. Utterly. He led Weiss Kreuz with a similar philosophy. Sometimes, you just couldn’t afford to be that flexible with your team or with the people you encountered on a mission.

The darkness was edging across his vision. He leaned against the wall and was vaguely aware of Oracle repositioning him so that he was lying on his side on the floor. Then the man’s phone rang and he took it out of his pocket and put it to his ear.

“Come up to level seven,” the man said tersely. “Four passengers. And a body for the boot.” A snort. “Not dead yet, no.”

Berserker was suddenly beside him, fixing putty explosive to the wall opposite him. Aya stared dazedly at it. Then, looking up the corridor and down into the main room, in which he realised he could no longer see Oracle, he realised that there was explosive fastened all over the place.

“You’re… going to… damage the other-other apart-apartments,” he murmured weakly.  _Hurt others._

“That’s what we do,” Prodigy said quietly. It was the first time the boy had spoken to him directly. The boy was standing in the middle of the main room, his eyes seeming to burn as he stared at Aya. Then he turned his head and looked away. He seemed to be scanning the room and Aya had the strangest feeling that the teenager was looking  _through_  the walls, scanning the whole of the apartment.

And then someone was lifting him, orange hair was brushing his face, and then he didn’t remember anything else.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

When he awoke, Aya felt like there was sand behind his eyelids. His mouth felt claggy and dry. Above him, in the yellow light from a lamp sitting on the floor by the only door, he could make out cracks in the high concrete ceiling of the room. A nauseating smell of fried noodles permeated the air. He swallowed and rolled onto his side, noticing then that he was lying under a thin blanket on a bare mattress on the floor. It was practically the only piece of furniture in the concrete walled room. Sitting up, he looked around for some water and spotted a plastic bottle of the stuff near the door, beside a bucket, which he suspected he would use in lieu of a toilet. The door had a spy flap in it.

For all intents and purposes, he was in a cell.

He went over and tested the water. It tasted okay so he drank most of the bottle. Then he banged on the door.

A few minutes later he heard footsteps and, somewhat to his surprise, not the flap, but the whole door opened, revealing a thin corridor beyond.

Mastermind leaned against the door jamb and stared down at him, unsmiling. He looked tired, deep circles under his eyes. He was still wearing his navy suit from the previous evening. It looked rumpled. Aya recalled that he had spent the whole night sleeping whilst Schwarz had spent it moving house.

“What time is it?” he asked awkwardly.

“Seven-something in the morning,” was the smooth response.

“And where am I?”

“That I won’t divulge,” Schuldig said. He folded his arms. “So,  _Katzerl_ , what am I to do with you?”

“Isn’t that up to you?” Aya replied bluntly. “Do we still have a deal?”

A small smirk. Then Schuldig tilted his head. “Come with me. I need to shower, as do you.”

Aya awkwardly followed after him. They appeared to be in some kind of dingy underground flat, which might once have been part of a warehouse from the look of some of the huge exposed concrete columns and the high ceiling. Schuldig led him past a doorway which looked into a living room, though it was hard to tell as all the lights were out. Someone was sleeping on the couch in the gloom, a shock of light blue hair the only feature visible beneath the grey blankets. Beside the body, a coffee table was piled high with cases of what Aya suspected were weapons.

He followed Schuldig into the next room, the bathroom, where the orange haired man pushed him towards the sink and, opening the cabinet, took out a new toothbrush for him, a tube of toothpaste, and a tube of lube. He broke the toothbrush package and handed it to him with the toothpaste. Then, as Aya began brushing his teeth, Schuldig moved behind him and slid his hands up his shirt.

It was eerily similar to their first encounter, when Mastermind had physically assaulted him. But this time, he had made a sort of deal with Schuldig. He had already slept with the man. And this time, Aya was almost certain that Oracle wouldn’t bother trying to protect him. He shuddered when Schuldig massaged him to hardness. He reached down with his free hand to grip the side of the sink and support himself.

And then the man hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs, and pushed them both down. Aya tried to glance back to see if the door was still open - he couldn’t recall if they had shut it, and then recalled that they were in front of a mirror. He looked up, noting first that the door was still open, and then, as he looked at himself - at his gaunt face framed with black hair, at his flushed arousal, he felt a burst of shame. What was wrong with him? How could he have changed so much in so little time?

He glanced at Schuldig. Mastermind wasn’t smirking as much anymore. Not since they had slept together yesterday, though admittedly they hadn’t done any penetration. But, given the lube that Schuldig had just taken out of the cabinet, that was soon to be remedied. He yelped, almost choking on his mouthful of toothpaste, when - just as that thought entered his mind - he felt a finger slick with lubricant rub against his entrance.

_“Spread your legs.”_

Aya looked down at his pants puddled on the tiled floor. He stepped out of them and spread his legs slightly, avoiding looking in the mirror. He whimpered when Schuldig used his free hand to grip the side of his pelvis and tilt his bottom slightly, then yelped again when he felt the probing finger withdraw and then two long fingers suddenly shove past the sphincter muscle. Tears came to his eyes and he put down the toothbrush in the sink and grabbed the other side of the sink with a shaking hand. He spat out his mouthful.

_It hurts._

He winced as the fingers scissored inside of him for a bit, then withdrew and then a third finger was suddenly added, far before Aya felt ready. He cried out then, softly, in pain. Hadn’t Schuldig heard his thought? Couldn’t he sense his pain?

“It hurts,” he said then, aloud, quietly. He hissed, squirming, when - perhaps deliberately in response to his protest - Schuldig just thrust his fingers into him deeper. His hand was suddenly on the back of Aya’s head, gripping his hair, holding him still with face down towards the sink.

Aya trembled. At the next thrust, he felt tears leak from his eyes and he was suddenly kind of glad that Schuldig was forcing him to look down. He didn’t want anyone to see him crying. He bit his lower lip.

Abruptly, Schuldig’s hand withdrew and the guy pushed him towards the toilet.

_“Sit down and relieve yourself. Then take off your shirt and get into the shower.”_

Aya sank down on the toilet. The implied humiliation of being made to sit on the throne like a girl wasn’t lost to him, but he was too shocked to care overmuch. Numbly, he took off his shirt and tossed it towards where his discarded pants lay. Then he began peeing. Schuldig, he realised, was stripping in front of him. And then, suddenly the guy was standing naked right in front of him and directing his half hard penis right at him.

_“Shuffle back on the seat.”_

Aya hurriedly obeyed, the reason for him being asked to do so not initially registering. And then it did and he looked up, freezing.  _Shit, is he really going to…?_ He cringed when he felt the head of the guy’s penis press against his jugular notch at the top of his chest, then the controlled seep of hot urine down his chest, across his abdomen, and over his own penis and balls. His whole body tensed up, but he didn’t dare move. He looked to the side, his blurred gaze lowered and focussed glassily on his discarded pyjamas.

Then it was over and Schuldig had stepped away slightly and was pointing him towards the shower. Dimly, Aya realised that Schuldig was erect.  _He’s getting off on this? Fuck._

_“Get in there.”_

Aya rose. He was shaking slightly. He flushed the toilet and then stepped awkwardly into the windows cubicle. The bathroom door was  _still_  open. Schuldig picked up the lube and followed him in. Aya flinched when the guy turned on the faucet, pelting mostly Aya with the initial burst of cold water.

Schuldig waited until the water was warm, then turned Aya around so that he was facing the glass. Aya yipped when he felt the taller man’s fingers thrust into his entrance again - three again, all at once. He leaned his forearms against the glass, trembling with the pain. His vision was blurred from tears and from the steam of the shower.

The fingers withdrew and, glancing down, Aya saw bright red blood dripping onto the tiled floor. He hiccuped.  _Please, let that be it._  But then he felt the head of Schuldig’s erection at his entrance, and then the man had driven himself into him. Deep. Right to the base. He cried out, scrabbling at the glass, his vision glassy with the sheer pain. He must have shifted his head back because Schuldig suddenly had grabbed him by the hair again and pressed his face forward. Thankfully Aya’s forearms were in front of him or he would have collided face first with the glass. He turned his head to the side and stared blindly across the bathroom, not even really hearing his cries of pain as Mastermind thrust roughly into him.

And then, with a burst of wet heat inside him, it was over and Schuldig released him. Aya slumped to the floor and crawled into the corner. He could feel wet heat leaking from his entrance, likely a mixture of blood and semen. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to think about it. He huddled and waited for the other man to finish showering and leave.

Schudig showered in silence. Then the water abruptly turned off. But the German didn’t move. Glancing towards him and upwards, Aya met the other man’s smirking gaze.

“I’m not sure which version I prefer of you,  _Katzerl_ ,” he remarked.

_I know which one I prefer of you._

A cold snort. “You’re no fun. But I can change that mindset.” The man chuckled at Aya’s flinch. “Not yet, Pussy. I’m not bored of your crying face yet. It’s rather attractive, actually.”

He stepped out of the shower and picked up a towel that was hanging on the back of the door. He dried himself, then wrapped the towel around his waist and turned back to look at him.

“Hurry up,” he remarked. “Or one of my colleagues will come in and I suspect they’re a rougher mood than me.”

Aya stirred at that thought and he painfully got to his feet and turned the water on. Using the soap in the dish hanging from the shower head, he hurriedly washed his body. Then he rinsed his hair and got out, limping slightly. He winced when Schuldig used his own towel to rub him down. When finished, the German wrapped the towel back around his own waist, then turned and walked out of the bathroom.

_“Follow me and leave your clothes.”_

_So I’m to be naked now?_

Schuldig just chuckled again and Aya, shivering slightly, followed him out of the bathroom and into the living room, crossing it to go through a doorway opposite it. He glanced at the couch as they passed it and hurriedly looked away when he saw that Berserker, despite still lying down, was awake and eyeing him with a cold stare.

And then they went through the doorway and into a shadowy kitchen. Only, there was a little light in here and that was from the laptop that was lying open on the small dining table. Oracle was sitting in front of it. He glanced up at Schuldig; then at Aya, his gaze resting on Aya a few moments longer; openly looking him up and down.

“What is he doing out here?” Oracle asked. His voice was flat and terse. There were dark circles under his eyes.

“He needs to be fed,” Schuldig said easily. He pointed Aya to the seat opposite from Oracle. “Sit.”

“That can be done in his cell,” Crawford replied crisply.

“True. But I wanted to let you see what he looks like after a hard fuck too.”

 _Jesus._  Aya didn’t know where to look.

“I happened to pass by the open door,” Crawford said coldly. “And I heard enough.”

“Your imagination isn’t quite the same thing as reality, Bradley,” Schuldig retorted, smirking. “But he did make some very pretty noises, didn’t he. I thought he would; thought you’d like them too.”

Aya figured that he’d be more comfortable back in his cell. At least, alone, he wouldn’t have to hear them talking about him in this way. He started when he heard a cupboard door snap shut and, looking towards the noise, saw that Schuldig had taken out a box of cereal and was pouring some into a bowl. He added milk and a spoon, then took it over to the table and placed it in front of him.

Fish-shaped cereal. In milk. Of course.

“Thank… you,” he murmured, well aware that Schuldig was standing right next to him, watching him, and that Crawford was watching from the other side of the table. He flinched when Schuldig ruffled his hair before walking away to sit down next to Crawford and peer at the computer screen with him.

Numbly, Aya picked up the spoon and began mechanically eating. It wasn’t all that bad-tasting, actually, though it had been months since he had eaten cereal and he had never eaten kids’ cereal before in his life. It never filled him enough.

When he finished, he rose and quietly took the bowl over to the sink where he washed up. Then he went over to where Schuldig was still sitting next to Crawford and watching the latter type. Aya didn’t try to read the words on the screen, though he could tell immediately that they were reading some sensitive document. Even the dim thought that it might be related to his sister didn’t really affect him. He just wanted to sleep. To escape everything. To cry too, perhaps, though he wasn’t used to crying.

“Schuldig- _san_?” he ventured awkwardly.

“Yes?” the man glanced at him.

“May I return to my cell?”

Schuldig searched his face for a few moments. Then he nodded. “Go. Leave your clothes.”

Aya nodded slightly and turned and limped away, back to the tiny cell which smelled sickening of oily noodles and its cracked ceiling. But at least he was alone there, or rather - as alone as he ever could be in this tiny dwelling. He flopped down onto the mattress and tugged the blanket over him, rolling onto his side and into a foetal position.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

When he awoke, the nightmare still hadn’t ended. He was still on a mattress, in near darkness, and his backside was throbbing sharply. He also had a headache, probably from crying and sleeping without a pillow. He didn’t know what the time was. He wasn’t hungry, but he wasn’t sure if that was due to it still being morning or a stress reaction to the events of that morning and the previous night.

He sat up and stumbled over to the doorway to retrieve the bottle of water. It had been refilled. He drank half of it; then carried it back to the bed with him where he lay back down. He needed to think. To make sense of what was happening. To ponder what Weiss might be doing now. To make sense of Schuldig’s treatment of him, assuming that wasn’t simply a normal fluctuation in the man’s personality.

But after a few minutes of lying there, he realised that he just… couldn’t. He didn’t have the energy. He felt utterly drained.

 _I’ll sleep, then_ , he decided, and he rolled back onto his side and curled up.

When he awoke the next time, he sensed that he wasn’t alone. On sitting up, he turned around and eyed Oracle warily. The man was sitting on a chair which he must have brought into the room, in a black suit and chocolate brown shirt. There was a tray of food on the floor.

“Come to finish me off?” he asked.

Crawford snorted. “Not yet,” he replied, with a thin smile. “Takatori- _san_  sends his regards.”

Fleetingly, Aya wondered if Crawford had told him about Schuldig raping him in the shower. Then he decided that he should probably assume that that was the case. It was just the sort of awful thing that Takatori loved.

“Does he have a job for me?” Aya asked. Not that he felt capable of doing anything beyond sleeping right now, but it was the first thing that had come to mind on hearing Takatori’s name. Well, the  _second_  thing after Aya.

The smirk widened slightly. “Nothing that you’ve not already done for Schuldig,” the man commented quietly. “And that wasn’t really  _a job_  for you, was it. Happily for you, as I suspect sexual abuse is the more affecting kind of trauma for you, none of the rest of us are into Stefan’s bloody seconds. He gets around too much.” Oracle chuckled lowly as he watched Aya tense. “And I’ll admit that I don’t trust you not to bite.”

Aya felt his shoulders slump slightly. So now - if he ever got out of this prison - he needed to be tested? So… this morning in the shower, had that happened before or after Takatori’s request? Almost certainly after. Takatori would have been notified of the apartment’s abandonment at the time.

_Not that it really makes a difference._

“So what kind of punishment do you intend for me?”

Crawford smiled thinly. “Farfarello’s going to declaw you.”

“Declaw?”  _Again with the cat references._

The man chuckled. “Forgive me. We enjoy our Weiss jokes. I meant: to  _denail_ you. He’s readying the equipment for tomorrow. It’s been a few months for him; over a year since he did it on a human, so he might take his time.” He rose. “It’s a pity; you have rather attractive hands. I’ll ask him to leave the roots so that they’ll grow back. Wouldn’t want to turn you into a martyr if you survive this, after all.”

Aya swallowed. Now he regretted not having fled with Weiss, damn the consequences of placing them all in danger. He glanced down at his nails; then looked back at Crawford. “So what’s the big assignment? It’s either something to do with Aya or the rest of Weiss Kreuz, isn’t it?”

Crawford just stared at him, still smirking coldly. At the sight, Aya faltered. “He said she would be safe,” he protested weakly. “And all I did was look for a bin; the apartment bin liner was missing so I…” He trailed off. He knew that he was making a weak excuse, that it didn’t matter either way because Takatori was always looking for an excuse to make his life even more miserable, and Schwarz cared almost as little for him as Takatori. Any leverage he had ever had was gone. With Takatori. With Schwarz. With Schuldig. He was just a toy to them, to use and abuse until they put him out of his misery. Aya had no misconception that any of them might actually  _care_ ; they were all far more emotionally disengaged than Weiss had ever been. Or that they might be conscientious enough to honour a deal. This wasn’t Weiss. Or Tokyo Crashers. Persia’s ethics were alien to this crew.

_I should have fled with Weiss. Why didn’t I think? Why didn’t I listen to Omi?_

_Regardless of how I wish I could survive long enough to help Aya, I’m not sure I’m strong enough right now. I’m not sure I’ll get through this alive. Perhaps I’d be better off dying now._

Crawford suddenly rose. “I’ve left you a little food,” he said quietly. “Farfarello will visit you tomorrow. I’m not sure when or if Schuldig plans to visit you next, but if he does, it’ll likely be before the declawing. You’ll be less receptive with sore hands and feet.” So saying, the man turned and left the room. He paused on the threshold. “Oh. Speak of the devil.”

Aya heard Schuldig laugh and the next thing he knew, the orange haired German was in the room, the door was shut, and Crawford was gone.

Schuldig was wearing a black T-shirt and pants. He leaned against the door and folded his arms. Aya eyed the smirking man for a few moments; then looked away. He tried to ignore the trembling of his hands by sitting on them.

 _“I was listening.”_ Schuldig’s voice, in his head.

Aya looked back at him.  _I’m going to die in here, aren’t I._

 _“You’re not dead yet.”_ The German suddenly grinned wolfishly.  _“Aren’t you glad you made a deal with me?”_

Aya frowned.  _That’s sarcasm, right?_

 _“Ha. I like you, Katzerl.”_ The man tilted his head.  _“You’re not just a pretty face. I ensure your little sister’s safety and you do everything I want. Willingly, right?”_

_I’ll try._

_“So why are you worrying about her?”_ Schuldig pushed himself away from the door and approached him. He sat down on the mattress beside Aya and, taking him by the chin, kissed him lightly.  _“Here Takatori and Crawford are, thinking they’re breaking you in, when I’ve already done it, hm?”_

_Our deal may as well be purely theoretical. I’m blind in here and so will be the results._

Schuldig chuckled and pushed him down onto the mattress. “Don’t worry,” he told him huskily as he crawled on top of him. “I’m not interested in your crying face right now.” He kissed him again, then - sensing Aya’s frightened compliance - started pressing kisses down his neck and chest. Aya pushed himself up onto his elbows to watch him.

_You’re completely different from this morning._

Schuldig chuckled again.  _“Oracle and I deal in the theoretical,”_  he conveyed, referring to Aya’s earlier thought.  _“I wouldn’t be so disillusioned, were I in your position.”_

Aya scowled.  _You’d never end up in this position._ Although, that said, Aya had never seen Schuldig work directly, the distracted receptionists at the hotel two nights ago discluded. He had only ever heard tales of the man rendering targets into gibbering idiots with a single look.

Schuldig stroked his penis and Aya huffed and lay back down, blinking when he found tears in his eyes. He raised a hand and wiped them away. Schuldig pushed at his legs, indicating for him to widen them, and Aya - glancing down at him, instead pushed himself up into a sitting position. He pulled the German into a light kiss, and trembled with pleasure when the other man not only kissed him back, but shifted closer and wrapped his arms around him. Aya closed his eyes.

What was it that Kudou called this phenomena? When a prisoner felt kindly towards their abusive captor?

“Stockholm Syndrome,” Schuldig replied quietly. “See, now we are purely academic,  _Katzerl_. With a small practical component.”

“Small?” Aya laughed shakily, his head buried against the other man’s warm throat.

“For me, yes.” Schuldig kissed the top of his head. “ _Katzerl_ , to someone like me, you are like fine glass. It is easy to break you.” He brushed aside the hair at the nape of Aya’s neck and followed the trail of his fingertips with further kisses. “This morning you were punished, as you know you deserved. Now is just play.”

Aya tensed. He remembered how Schuldig had been flaccid when they had been intimate yesterday evening, yet hard in the shower.  _Now isn’t just play.You got off on how you treated me._

Schuldig chuckled lowly, but didn’t reply. Aya hissed, tensing, when instead the man bit him on the shoulder with bruising force. He shuddered, but forced himself to remain still until the man had finished and was laving the site with small licks.

_“I get off on many things, Aya.”_

“I’m inclined to think you’re the shadow leader of Schwarz.”

Schuldig chuckled again, and - Aya noticed - didn’t attempt to correct him. Turning slightly, Aya hesitantly touched the man’s chest. Then he moved his hand down and felt his slight erection.

“You heard what Crawford said?” he asked quietly.  _‘I don’t trust you not to bite.’_

Mastermind ruffled his hair; then lay back on the mattress, grabbing the pillow and propping it behind his head. “I trust you,” he remarked, grinning. “Go on.”

_Another lie. Even if he did attempt to bite him, Schuldig would take over. Perhaps he already had._

He knelt between the man’s legs and worked on undoing the German’s belt and freeing the man’s erection. It lolled free, upwards towards the man’s snail trail. Aya felt his own arousal harden slightly at the sight. He swallowed. He really was a bottom.  _Probably._

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

Schuldig had left when Aya awoke next. He had fallen asleep in the man’s arms, an odd concept that he struggled to get his head around given only that morning - assuming it was the same day - he had been raped so violently by the guy. His head still felt sore from where the man had grabbed him by his hair, and his forearms were bruised from being pressed against the glass of the shower. The anal pain had settled slightly, though, which he was relieved about. He wasn’t familiar enough with bowel anatomy to know if he had bled enough to have need for concern, but he figured Schuldig’s lack of concern should be somewhat reassuring.

Rising, he went to inspect the food tray. It was mostly cold, but the food contents were cold - a cheese sandwich, an apple, and a tetra pack of milk. Another water bottle had appeared and he drank most of it before starting in on the food. He wondered what the time was and if there was anyone in the shadowy little flat with him currently.

His thoughts shifted to Aya and the television report that he had watched not long before he had disobeyed Crawford’s request of him. Masafumi Takatori. He recalled a few of the reports that he had read on the man over the past months. He had a preference for experimenting on children.

Aya- _chan_  hadn’t physically aged since Reiji Takatori ran her over in his car. He chewed the sandwich without really tasting it. He wished he knew what the Takatoris wanted with her. He wished he had seen her awake.

He finished the sandwich and, feeling already a little better, ate the apple. Then he drank the milk. Then he stood up and banged on the door.

He had to wait longer than the other day when Schuldig had taken him to the bathroom, but eventually he heard footsteps and then the door flap opened.

It was Farfarello. The man stared at him intently for a few moments. When the direction of his golden eye flicked over him briefly, Aya recalled that he was naked. He grimaced.

“What’s the time?” he asked.

“I’m not supposed to tell you.”

Aya swallowed.  _Great._  The intent behind that could only be malicious, to disorientate him as much as possible. Given Schuldig’s personality, he supposed he couldn’t even be certain that it  _had_  been morning when the German had taken him to the shower. He took a step back and ran a hand through his hair. Pieces of it flopped into his eyes, black, still alien enough that they surprised him. He turned and paced a length of the cell. When he arrived back before Farfarello, he glanced at the man, and then turned and paced another length.

“What about the declaw… de _nailing_?” He winced at his own verbal slip. He noticed Farfarello’s lip twist slightly in amusement.

“Not yet.”

 _Now that… that was a small comfort._  Aya nodded briefly. “What was I injected with?”  _Give me something different to think about. Please._

A small smirk. “A special blend.”

Aya scowled. There went that idea. Wasn’t it enough that Schuldig could mess with his mind whenever he pleased? Wasn’t it enough that he was imprisoned by these four crazy sadists without them deliberately disorientating him? Making him second guess and triple guess every one of his own thoughts and assumptions?

“He can take away memories too, can’t he,” he said quietly.

Berserker blinked at him. For a long moment, Aya thought that the Irishman would deny him a clear response to this question also, but then the man suddenly leaned against the other side of the door and replied: “He doesn’t  _take_  them.” His expression was thoughtful. “He breaks them down. Bits stay in there. Somewhere. He leaves those to mess with them.” He pointed at his head and twirled the finger, eyes fixed on Aya. There was a pause. Then the man remarked, “You’re not so fun anymore, Kitty.”

Aya snorted. “No one has ever called me  _fun_.”

“The Kitties have a different kind of humour. They liked you enough to come looking for you.” Berserker looked down and took something out of his pocket… a cigarette, which he stuck between his lips and promptly lit up. “Smoke?” he offered.

“Sure.” He never did usually due to the impact on his aerobic ability, but what the hell. It didn’t look as if he was going to be using his katana or running anytime soon. He went over and took the pro-offered stick; then retreated a few steps. Farfarello lit another and Aya watched him suck in the smoke, then exhale through the door flap towards him. Blinking as the smoke stung his eyes, he approached and leaned against the wall beside the door. He stuck the thin, warm cylinder between his lips and inhaled, enjoying the brief, subtle draw on his mind. Then he exhaled. How long had it been since his last cigarette? A year almost? During a mission? He couldn’t quite remember. His thoughts returned to his team.

“They’re working on finding my sister, aren’t they. Weiss.”

There was no answer.

“You’re not going to tell me that either, are you,” Aya stated then, leaning forward slightly to meet the other guy’s golden gaze. “I’m a dead man, Farfarello. Give me  _something_. My sister is the only thing I care about.”

The man paused again. Then, once again, he surprised Aya by relenting and taking his cigarette from his lips. “I’ve seen them sniffing around. The little one is doing your job.”

Aya snorted.  _Yeah. Omi’s good. He’s too good to be an assassin._  He slid down the wall into a crouch. “What about Aya?”

“She’s alive.”

Aya shot him a sidelong glare. “So am  _I_ ,” he snipped.

A vicious grin answered his glare. Farfarello chuckled. “You’re  _dead_.”

Aya scowled. “So when  _will_  Takatori finally put me out of my misery?”

“He hasn’t said.”

“And you won’t speculate with me?”

Farfarello inhaled thoughtfully on his cigarette. His gaze flicked down to Aya’s fingers on his cigarette, then back to his face. “We like you miserable.”

 _Not yet then?_ Aya sank down to the floor and leaned his head back against the concrete wall. He stared absently across the room. When, after a few minutes, he heard the door flap shut and Berserker walk away, he closed his eyes.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. But the next thing he knew, the door was opening and Crawford was standing there in the gloom, staring down at him with an expression of distaste.

“Get up and follow me,” he instructed.

Aya rose and padded after him, shivering slightly in the cooler air of the corridor. As they passed the living room, he glanced inside and saw Farfarello sitting on the couch there, the man’s muscular form illuminated by the thin yellow ceiling light. The man was examining an open case of gleaming implements in front of him on the coffee table. Amongst them, scalpels and forceps.

_This is it, I suppose._

“In here,” Crawford said quietly. Aya looked up. Oracle was standing at the door of the bathroom, gesturing inside. “Use the toilet and shower; then head back to your cell.”

Aya complied, not seeing any real alternative. He took his time brushing his teeth and in the shower, using the shampoo and conditioner in the shower that he hadn’t had the opportunity to use last time. He was just stepping out, noticing absently that he had been washing so long that he had completely fogged up the mirrors, when he heard Crawford swear outside the door.

The bathroom door suddenly opened. Crawford stood there, beckoning him out with his gun. His other hand held his phone, which was pressed to his ear.

“We’ll rendezvous in the East Block,” he said sharply. “As soon as possible. Mastermind is already there and Berserker is on his way; you’re to communicate with Mastermind and act under his direction until I’m on site. Weiss and the girl are to be intercepted. The girl is to be returned to her room.”

“Aya?” Aya asked quietly, hurriedly wrapping the towel he had been drying his hair with around his waist. Crawford glanced at him and scowled.

“Go back to your cell,” he ordered, raising the gun.

Aya nodded and obeyed, partly because he didn’t know where the exit to the flat was to attempt to run to it. Partly that and he had fought Crawford a few times before and come out the worst on every one of his attempts to hit the guy. He highly doubted he would fare better naked with a towel instead of a katana. He entered his cell and winced when he heard the door slam shut behind him and the locks slam into place. As he heard Crawford step away, he stepped back to the door and pressed his ear against the metal.

“The older two Weiss members are expendable,” he heard Crawford say, to who he assumed was Nagi. “Leave Bombay.” Then the man’s voice dwindled further and Aya couldn’t make out what he was saying anymore. He sighed and went back to the mattress where he sat down cross legged on it and pulled the blanket around his shoulders. After a long while, he lay down and positioned himself upon his back, arms behind his head.

Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya/Schu/Aya

It felt like hours when the door finally opened again. It probably was. He had had enough experience with waiting during stake outs. He sat up and stared at his smirking visitor, who was leaning against the door jamb and wearing black jeans and a black shirt. It was Schuldig. The guy tossed a familiar looking duffle bag at him.

“Home time,  _Katzerl_.”

Aya stared at him. “Home… time?” he echoed.

The German winked at him and turned his head to look down the corridor. “Crawford, I told you he wouldn’t believe me.”

Aya heard approaching footsteps. Then Crawford appeared beside Schuldig. He gazed impassively down at Aya. “Schuldig’s correct,” he informed. “Takatori Reiji has instructed us to release you. Get dressed and we’ll take you home. Hurry up before he calls back and  asks us to put you down instead.”

“What about Aya- _chan_?”  _What about the denailing?_

Crawford glanced at Schuldig, then back at Aya with an irritated expression. “She’s been discharged into the care of the Chief of Police, Takatori Shuuichi. With our employer’s consent.” It went unsaid that with that transfer, despite Takatori Shuuichi being Reiji’s brother, Reiji had concluded whatever business he had intended for the Fujimiya siblings.

“So… they haven’t experimented on her?” Aya questioned doubtfully.  _Something’s not right._

Neither of the other men answered. After an awkward pause, Crawford snipped, “Get dressed,” and turned and walked away. Aya glanced at Schuldig, then rose and started changing into the clothes provided in the bag. They were simple; the tags were still attached. He broke them with his fingers. Boxer briefs, T-shirt, sweat pants, loafers… Grey and black. Then he rose and followed Schuldig’s beckoning hand out of the cell and down the corridor to the kitchen.

Around a corner and there was the entrance hall. Aya noticed that Crawford and Farfarello had followed him. He wondered where Nagi was. In bed? Studying late for school the next day?

Farfarello approached him and put a hood over his head. Then he heard the front door open and he was bundled out into a corridor, down a small flight of stairs, and into a vehicle. The doors opened and shut around him, the noise echoing as if they were in an underground carpark. Then the vehicle sped off, ascended a ramp, and entered traffic.

“What happened to my sister?” Aya asked a few minutes later, when the car was still and it seemed like they were waiting at a traffic light. He could hear the indicator clicking softly.

“She entertained a visit from your colleagues earlier tonight,” Schuldig said, from in front of him.

“Not in the car, Stefan,” Crawford reminded, from the driver’s seat. The car suddenly purred forward and turned a corner.

“What happened?” Aya pressed.

“Later,  _Katzerl_.”

Aya reluctantly fell silent and leaned back in his seat. He listened to the traffic sounds, felt the purr of the vehicle as it raced down motorways, and - finally - began winding through narrow, quieter streets that reminded him of those around Kitty in the House. And then the car halted and someone - Farfarello - pulled off the hood.

He looked out of the window of the sedan. They were outside the florist shop, parked by the closed garage of the office opposite. The lights were on upstairs in the bedrooms. He got out. The three present members of Schwarz did likewise. Aya turned to Schuldig, who mirrored his action, and looked expectant.

“What happened to Aya?” Aya repeated.

The German smirked. “She’s physically fine. Our employer decided that hosting her might be more problematic than he had originally thought. You’re fortunate: he considered putting you  _both_  down.”

Aya scowled. Normally, he would have launched himself at the guy, but he felt too drained. Probably because he hadn’t eaten anything since… when  _had_  he had that sandwich and apple? “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“An accident or - as I convinced him to let me speed up his original plan - a little memory tampering.” Schuldig raised a hand when Aya sought to speak. “Ah, ah,  _Pussy_. I promised to keep her safe, and I have. She’s even safer now, probably, because she doesn’t remember the car crash at all.”

“But that means she doesn’t remember how dangerous that guy is!” Aya snapped. “Where does Shuuichi Takatori live?”

“She also doesn’t remember  _you_ ,” Schuldig continued softly. He quickly ducked away, chuckling, when Aya darted at him, arm flying out, his face a snarl. It whipped through clean air, missing its target narrowly. “Careful,  _Katzerl_ ,” the man purred. “Or I’ll renege on our deal and make her…” He stepped aside neatly yet again when Aya flew at him again, “… memory that much worse.” Then, on a third attempt, he didn’t move, instead reaching out and seizing Aya by his arms. Driving him backwards, he slammed Aya back against the garage door, the melodic CLANGING echoing loudly down the street. Aya stilled, panting, his eyes tearing. The other man’s cologne was cloying, the scent of cigarettes heady and suffocating. His hands were like vices around his forearms, broader than his own.

“Did I not keep her alive?” Schuldig questioned.

Aya glared at him. The man was a blur through his tears, but he could make out the amused look on his smirking face. He twisted weakly, but the German anticipated every one of his moves.

“Did I not keep  _you_  alive?” Schuldig continued. His grip tightened painfully on Aya’s arms when Aya squirmed again. Abyssinian yelped. Tears slid down his cheeks.

“Is your sister not now in the care of the safest household in Japan? And isn’t her host your colleague’s father?”

Aya faltered. This man knew too fucking much. Schwarz was too damn powerful. He undoubtedly knew that Persia was Shuuichi Takatori too. That Kritiker was the underground police, run by the very same Chief of Police. He stared angrily up at the taller man.

“Can you get her memories back?”

A soft snort. “Maaay…be. It wouldn’t be  _safe_  for her, though,  _Pussy_ , and we did make a deal, you and I, dearest.” The whirring of the back door to the florist caught Aya’s attention and he stared past Schuldig. Beside the outline of Ken’s bike, he could see Yohji standing there staring at them. The blond man was dressed in a faded black sweat shirt and a favourite pair of burgundy shorts. Yohji shouted and hurried forward, skidding to a halt when Crawford turned from watching the exchange and levelled his gun at his face.

“Stop right there, Balinese,” Crawford said coolly. “My colleague is having a conversation with your leader and when they are finished, you may have him back.”

Yohji glared at him, but nodded slowly and raised his hands slightly.

Schuldig’s grip loosened and then the man released Aya and stood back. “We’re finished anyway,” he said to Crawford and Yohji. He looked back at Aya and, smirking, winked at him. “I’ll call on you soon,  _Katzerl_ ,” he remarked. “You still belong to me. Don’t forget.”

Aya scowled.  _Who fucking could?_  He pushed away from the garage door, his back throbbing slightly, and - rubbing his arms - made his way around the sedan and over to Yohji. Now that Kudou was in front of him, Aya was struck by how similar he looked to Schuldig. His hair was just… blonder and wavier. And he was a little less broad about the shoulders.

He heard a car door slam and looked back to observe Crawford and Farfarello already in the vehicle. Schuldig waved at him, the man grinning widely, then he got in also, and the sedan burst into life and sped off into the night.

“Hey.”

Aya started when Yohji suddenly pulled him into a tight hug. He smelled like cigarettes too, but also like beer and curry. “Hell, Aya,” the man said, his voice muffled into Aya’s shoulder. “We thought we’d lost you for sure this week.”

“…Aya- _chan_?” he asked awkwardly.

Yohji pulled back slightly. His gaze met Aya’s briefly, then flicked away. “She’s… with Persia,” he said carefully. “She doesn’t remember anything about the car crash.” He hesitated, as if there was something else he wanted to add, but then continued, bracingly. “But she looks fine. Happy. Healthy. Put her in a uniform and she’d be just like any other cutie who visits the flower shop. We’ll go and visit her tomorrow, hey?”

Aya nodded.  _But she also doesn’t remember me, is that right?_ He wanted to ask. But he couldn’t bring himself to. He let the older man turn him towards the shop and usher him into the garage and onwards, to the deserted living room. Already he could feel himself relaxing, being in the familiar environment, far away from that concrete flat and the constant feeling that he was being watched.

“Sit down,” Yohji said, pushing him towards the couch. “I’ll get the others. Then you’ll probably want to sleep.”

“No, I won’t,” Aya replied gruffly.

“Huh?” Already at the door, Yohji turned and stared back at him. “Why not?”

“I…” Aya faltered. He had been about to explain that he had slept for an unknown period of time these last few days, but then he’d have to start talking about everything else that had happened. And he really didn’t feel ready to do that. Not yet. He’d have to do it eventually, certainly for Manx, but all he wanted right now was to curl up somewhere and hide. Possibly cry also. He fucking hated crying.

“No. It’s… Just go and get them.” He watched Yohji hesitate, then - with a slight nod, the older man turned and headed off. Aya looked around vaguely, then sank down on the couch and tucked his legs up under him. Leaning his head back, he stared at the smooth white-painted ceiling.

He had been declared dead. He had been almost tortured. He had slept with  _both_  Schuldig  _and_ Crawford.  _How the fuck had that happened?_ He had murdered Bishop. None of it felt real. He wasn’t sure it ever would. Hearing a clatter from upstairs in Ken’s room, he raised his head and looked around dazedly and, seeing the cat-embroidered throw that Ms. Momoe had given them a few months back, dragged it onto his lap. He stroked the face of one of the cats, the rusty-coloured sinewy one that looked the most like a real Abyssinian cat. Schuldig suited this kind of cat too.

 _“Miss me already, Katzerl?_ ”

He started and looked nervously towards the doors out of the living room.  _Schuldig?_

But there was no answer. The only sound was the soft humming of the fridge. Was it his mind playing tricks on him? Possibly. After waiting a few moments, Aya flopped his head back and closed his eyes, savouring the remaining moments of peace before Yohji, Omi, and Ken refound him.

End

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